\ 


POEMS 


UTTERANCE; 


on, 


•,•::": 

PRIVATE  VOICES  TO  THE  PUBLIC  HEART. 


COLLECTION   OF   HOME-POEMS. 


CAROLINE    A.    BRIGGS 


" 


BOSTON: 

PHILLIPS,   SAMPSOX,   AND   COMPANY 
1852. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1851, 

BY    CAROLINE    A.    BRIGGS, 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  Massachusetts. 


To  MY  BEST  FRIENDS  AND  EARLIEST  ; 

MY  FATHER  AND  MOTHER  ;  — 

THESE  POEMS  ARE  AFFECTIONATELY  DEDICATED 

BY  THEIR  DAUGHTER, 


939870 


PROEM. 

I  bcggod  of  our  dear  Lord  one  gift  from  Heaven, 
A  true  and  simple  Utterance,  —  and  'twas  given. 


CONTENTS. 


VOICES   OF  AFFECTION. 

Pa-e 

Do  They  Miss  Me, 17 

The  Love- Wreath, 20 

Names,     .       ,V    ^:  .  .  ' 27 

To at  Parting, 30 

The  Gift, 33 

"  Kiss  Me,"  '  V-    ....  4;-'  ;•''•. •vVv;  • 'V-V1..  >':r  V  :    *       .  35 

Carrie,      .        .        .       VJ  .^.;  "'-..'';-•'•''•*.,  ^       ...  36 

The  Portrait, -    »  ".V      .        .  39 

To , 43 

The  Mystic  Harp, 44 

To in  Absence, 46 

Dreams, 49 

Rosabelle,                                                                                        .  50 


10  CONTENTS. 

Paga 

A  Heart-Thought, .        .        .        . 53 

"  Fail  Me  Not  Thou,"    .        .    '    .        .        .        •'*  '  ...  54 

A  Sister's  Memory,         .--.'.  -.'<*'•  ~>V"~:  .*  ."../  •    •'   *':    •'•.'••        •  <*" 

A  Sister's  Grave,   ..'.   ;    »_•      '^'--  A-     V//v     -.^^ .:-'.. ''i. .     •  62 

Mary,      .        .    [..      V"   .        .        I        •    ^^    ^,';,".    j  65 

Sonnet,   .        .        ...'>.".  -\-.^,     •  •     •        ».';     •   .     •  69 


VOICES   OP  CHEER. 

Try,        .        .        .V.;...        •        • 73 

An  Incident, -    •        •         •        .75 

"Weeping  may  endure  for  a  Night,"  &c., 77 

A  Lesson, 80 

Trust  to  the  Future, S3 


A  VOICE  FOR  THE   POOH. 


A  Voice  for  the  Poor, 89 


CONTENTS.  11 

Pag:; 
VOICES   OF   GRIEF. 

The  Motherless, Ill 

"  The  Forced  Bridal," 116 

The  Maniac's  Death-Song,     .        .        .        ...        .        .119 

May, 122 

A  Ballad, 126 

Lena, 130 

The  Ocean  Bell, 139 

The  Changed  Meeting, 143 

Life, 146 

A  Sea-Side  Thought, 149 

Stanzas,  .        .  :\  _.•.»•• 152 

Sonnet,  written  on  the  Fly-leaf  of  a  Favorite  Author,        .        .  154 

Sonnet,  —  Poor  Heart  of  Mine, 155 

A  Memory,     ...........  156 


SACRED   VOICES. 


A  Thought  of  Eternity, 159 

Saubath-Evening  Hymn, 1G1 

The  Happy  Land, ....    164 


12  CONTENTS. 

Page 

The  Pilgrim 167 

Truth, :        .  '  .V;        .        .        r        .170 

"A  Strange  Pulpit,"     .        .        . .,.,  -•.  .*-      .  -.'  ''X      •        •        .176 
John  21  :  15-17,   ..;:\  )V^  -O«    -V':^        •        •        •        •    ^9 

Musings,         .        .",;..,?• 181 

Prayer, :  '.> V- -4'"  \\ .",-,  ?/     .        .     184 

Night  Hymn,          .        .        .  - 186 


VOICES   BY  THE  WAY. 

"  Wishing  Bridge," 191 

July  Twenty-Seventh, -    .  194 

Kermvood, 198 

"  Just  Sixteen,"     .        .        . 201 

Twilight, 203 

Summer  Hymn, .  206 

Love's  Illusion, 209 

An  Impromptu, 212 

Sonnet,  — to  William  R.  Dempster, 214 

Sonnet,  —  written  on  the  Fly-leaf  of  Wordsworth's  Memoirs,    .  215 

My  Grave, 216 

Night, 219 


CONTENTS.  13 

Page 

Strife  and  Peace, -  .  223 

"When  I  am  Old, 227 

Auburn  Dale, .  231 

The  Rain, p  233 

Evening, 237 

Autumn  Leaves, 240 

The  Child's  Last  Wish, 243 

Hesperus, ,  245 

The  Origin  of  Dimples, 247 

Sadness, .  249 

Truth  vs.  Custom, .252 


VOICES   OF  AFFECTION' 


VOICES   OF  AFFECTION 


DO    THEY    MISS    ME? 

Do  they  miss  me  at  home,  do  they  miss  me? 

'Twould  be  an  assurance  most  dear 
To  know  that  this  moment  some  loved  one 

Was  saying,  "  Oh,  were  she  but  here  !  " 
To  know  that  the  group  at  the  fireside 

Were  thinking  of  me  as  I  roam,  — 
Oh  yes,  'twould  be  joy  beyond  measure, 

To  know  that  they  missed  me  at  home  ! 

When  twilight  approaches  —  the  season 
That  ever  was  sacred  to  Song  — 

Does  some  one  repeat  my  name  over, 
And  sigh  that  I  tarry  so  long? 
2 


18  UTTERANCE 


And  is  there  a  chord  in  the  music 

That's  missed  when  my  voice  is  away? 

And  a  chord  in  each  heart  that  awaketh 
Regret  at  my  wearisome  stay? 

Do  they  place  me  a  chair  near  the  table 

When  evening's  home-pleasures  are  nigh, 
And  candles  are  lit  in  the  parlor, 

And  stars  in  the  calm  azure  sky? 
And  when  the  good-nights  are  repeated, 

Does  each  the  dear  memory  keep, 
And  think  of  the  absent,  and  waft  me 

A  whispered  "Good-night"  ere  they  sleep? 

Do  they  miss  me  at  home,  do  they  miss  me, 

At  morning,  at  noon,  and  at  night?  — 
And  lingers  one  gloomy  shade  round  them 

That  only  my  presence  can  light?  — 
Are  joys  less  invitingly  welcomed, 

And  pleasures  less  dear  than  before, 
Because  one  is  missed  from  the  circle, — 

Because  7  am  with  them  no  more  ? 


VOICES      OF     AFFECTION.  19 

Oh  yes  —  they  do  miss  me  —  kind  voices 

Are  calling  me  back  as  I  roam, 
And  eyes  have  grown  weary  with  weeping, 

And  watch  but  to  welcome  me  home  ! 
Sweet  friends,  ye  shall  wait  me  no  longer  — 

No  longer  I'll  linger  behind  — 
For  how  can  I  tarry  while  followed 

By  watchings  and  pleadings  so  kind  ? 


20  UTTERANCE. 


THE    LOVE-WREATH. 


TO 


I'VE  twined  thee,  love,  a  flow'ry  wreath 

To  bind  upon  thy  brow, 
And  with  kind  words  on  every  leaf 

I  bid  it  seek  thee  now. 
I've  searched  the  garden  thro'  and  thro', 

The  green-house,  grove,  and  dell, 
And  rifled  them  of  half  their  sweets 

For  her  I  love  so  well. 
I  thought,  at  least,  my  gift  would  be 
A  messenger  of  love  to  thee. 

And  as  I  plaited  tirelessly 

Each  leaf,  and  bud,  and  flower, 

I  smiled  to  think  how  sweeter  grew 
My  labor  every  hour. 


VOICES      OF     AFFECTION.  21 

And  with  each  leaf,  and  flower,  and  bud, 

I  wove  a  loving  thought, 
And  hid  a  kiss  in  every  plait 

My  busy  fingers  wrought, — 
Thinking  the  while  how  fair  'twould  shine 
Above  that  sweet,  young  brow  of  thine  ! 

Methought  that  from  the  thousand  flowers 

That  met  my  raptured  eye, 
I'd  cull  but  those  whose  names  were  linked 

With  love  and  purity. 
Dost  know  the  language,  sweet,  of  flowers  ?  — 

And  canst  thou  read  in  each, 
The  messages  I  bid  them  bear, 

And  truths  I  bid  them  teach  ? 
Then  study  well  the  garland  bright 
I've  woven  with  such  rare  delight. 

First,  from  the  garden's  wealth,  I  stole 

Sweet  l  Rose-buds,  fresh  and  fair, 
And  2  Myrtle-sprigs,  —  because  the  friend 

I  cherished  was  not  there. 


22  UTTERANCE. 

And  with  the  blue  3  Forget-me-not 

I  wove  a  4  Bay-leaf  green, 
While  5  Crocus-flowers  and  6  Violets 

Came  peeping  up  between ; 
And  7  Pinks  and  8Pansies  blended  there 
With  9  Amaranths  more  rich  and  rare. 

The   10Star  of  Bethlehem  next  I  twined 

Among  the  blooming  throng, 
Calm  thoughts  of  Him  of  whom  they  breathed 

Stealing  my  heart  along. 
And  the  sweet  n  Cherry-bloom  was  there, 

And  leaning  on  its  check, 
Lay  the  pale   12  Snowball,  like  a  child, 

All  trustingly  and  meek ; 
And  from  each  white  and  graceful  cup 
Methought  pure  prayer  seemed  gushing  up. 

And  13  Orange-flowers  all  white  and  fair, 

And  "Lilies,  pure  as  they, 
I  sought  with  studied  grace  and  skill 

Within  the  wreath  to  lay ; 


VOICES      OF     AFFECTION.  23 

And  young  15Moss  Rose-buds  drooped  their  heads 

So  gracefully  beside, 
And  blushed  so  sweetly,  that  I  kissed 

The  darlings  in  my  pride  !  — 
Hoping  my  friend  would  like  these  best, 
And  prize  them  more  than  all  the  rest. 

And  16  Honeysuckles  twined  their  slight 

And  graceful  ringers  round, 
And  rosy  1T  Laurels  lovingly 

With  18  Jasmines  interwound  ; 
Young  "Daisies  ope'd  the  long-fringed  lids 

Of  their  sweet,  starry  eyes, 
Gazing  on  all  the  beauty  there 

As  if  in  glad  surprise  ;  — 
I  thought  how  very  like  thine  own 
With  love  and  happiness  they  shone ! 

And  if  awhile  I  dropped  the  wreath 

To  list  the  caroled  glee 
Of  some  bright  bird,  it  made  me  think 

So  instantly  of  thee  ! 


24 

Thy  ringing  tones  were  in  my  ear, 
My  cheek  was  close  to  thine, 

And  I  could  almost  feel  thee  link 
Thy  little  hand  with  mine  ! 

And  when  the  pleasant  dream  was  o'er, 

I'd  turn  me  to  my  flowers  once  more. 

But  thou  art  weary,  love,  perchance, 

Nor  car'st  to  hear  me  tell 
Thus  tirelessly  of  blossoms  culled 

From  green-house,  grove,  and  dell. 
Enough  that  love  has  twined  them  all, 

And  given  to  each  a  tone 
To  tell  thee  that  this  trusting  heart, 

Though  wayward,  is  thine  own ! 
I'm  glad  that  flowers  have  tongues  to  tell 
What  words  could  say  not  half  so  well ! 

Then  take  the  wreath,  and  bind  it,  love, 

Upon  thy  shining  hair, — 
Among  those  rich,  dark  curls  of  thine 

That  veil  thy  forehead  fair ;  — 


VOICES      OF     AFFECTION.  25 

And  gaze  upon  thy  mirrored  face, 

And  own  how  lovelier  yet 
My  gift  has  made  thee,  as  it  shines 

Among  thy  curls  of  jet  — 
And  if,  the  while,  thy  heart  run  o'er 
With  love  for  me,  I'll  ask  no  more. 


NOTES. 

1  Rose-bud  —  Confession  of  Lore. 

2  Myrtle  —  Love  in  Absence. 

3  Forget-me-not  —  True  Love. 

4  Bay-leaf— I  Change  but  in  Dying. 

5  Crocus  —  Smiles. 

6  Violet  — Faithfulness. 

7  Pink  —  Lovely  and  pure  Affection. 

3  Pansy  — Tender  and  pleasant  Thoughts. 
9  Globe  Amaranth  — Unchangeable. 

10  Star  of  Bethlehem  — Let  us  follow  Jesus. 

11  Cherry-blossom  —  Spiritual  Beauty. 

12  Snowball  —  Thoughts  of  Heaven. 


26  IT  ITERANCE. 

'3  Orange-flower  — Woman's  Worth. 

u  Lily  — Purity  and  Sweetness. 

is  Moss  Rose  —  Superior  Merit. 

ic  Honeysuckle  —  Fidelity. 

17  Laurel— Virtue  is  True  Beauty. 

is  Jasmine  —  Amiability. 

19  Daisy  — Beauty  and  Innocence. 


VOICES      OF     AFFECTION.  27 


NAMES. 

"  "What's  in  a  Name  ?  " 

ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 

I  SAT  one  day  in  merry  mood, 

With  friends  I  loved  around  me  ; 
One  with  her  white  arm  over  mine 

In  sweet  embrace  had  bound  me  ; 
And  one  with  meek  and  loving  eyes, 

And  step  like  any  fairy, — 
And  yet  another,  fair  and  gay,  — 

'Twas  Ellen,  Kate,  and  Mary. 

"  Now  prithee  tell,"   said  merry  Kate, 
With  sly  and  roguish  glances, 

Turning  to  mine  her  eye  that  aye 
With  mirth  and  mischief  dances,  — 


28  UTTERANCE. 

"  Now  prithee  tell  which  name  of  all 
The  thousands  you  have  heard,  love, 

Is  dearest,  sweetest  to  your  heart, — 
Please  tell  the  magic  word,  love." 

Then  Ellen  with  her  soft,  fair  hand 

Smoothed  back  my  tumbled  tresses, 
And  with  a  sweet  and  loving  smile 

Redoubled  her  caresses ; 
And  murmured,  as  she  kissed  my  lips, 

"  Say,  Ellen  —  do,  my  Treasure  !  " 
I'd  half  a  mind  to  please  the  pet, 

But  begged  one  moment's  leisure. 

Then  Kate,  the  little  merry  puss, 

Came  stealing  up  behind  me, 
And  quick  as  thought  her  loving  arms 

Had  claspingly  entwined  me  ; 
And  with  a  laugh  of  music-tone 

She  whispered,  "  Please  say  Kate,  love." 
I'd  half  a  mind  to,  but  replied, 

"Nay — not  so  hasty  —  wait,  love." 


VOICES      OF     AFFECTION.  29 

I  gazed  a  moment  on  them  each, 

Those  three  so  fair  and  youthful, 
But  longest  looked  in  Mary's  eyes, 

So  loving,  meek,  and  truthful ! 
They  filled  with  tears  —  but  not  a  word 

That  moment's  hush  did  vary; 
Hers  was  the  sweetest  pleading  yet  — 

I  paused,  —  then  murmured  —  "Mary!" 


30  UTTERANCE. 


TO AT    PARTING 

THOU  sayest  thou  wilt  ne'er  forget, 

That  I  shall  ever  be 
A  green  spot  on  Life's  desert  waste, 

A  star  of  love  to  thee  ;  — 
A  ray  to  cheer  and  warm,  —  and  yet, 
Believe  it  not ;  —  thou  wilt  forget ! 

A  few  short  years,  perchance,  thou'lt  keep 

My  mem'ry  fresh  and  green, 
Recalling  e'en  each  look  of  mine 

Without  a  mist  between  ;  — 
And  think  'twill  aye  be  so,  —  and  yet, 
Believe  it  not ;  —  thou  wilt  forget ! 

I've  met  with  friends  who've  vowed  to  me 
To  love  through  good  and  ill, 


YOICES      OF     AFFECTION.  31 

To  cherish  me  till  Life's  warm  pulse 

Within  their  hearts  grew  still ; 
Forgetting  me,  oh  ne'er!  —  and  yet, 
Alas,  alas,  they  did  forget ! 

My  name  to  them  is  now  like  some 

Dim  mem'ry  of  a  song 
They  used  to  love  to  listen  to,  — 

But  that  was  long  since  —  long  :  — 
'Tis  charmless  now,  and  yet,  and  yet, 
They  said  they  never  would  forget. 

A  little  time,  and  thou  wilt  write 

My  name  all  names  above ; 
And  then,  perchance,  thou  too  wilt  find 

Some  dearer  one  to  love, — 
Some  fairer  one  whom  thou  hast  met, 
And  I,  —  alas,  thou  wilt  forget ! 

Believe  it  not  that  I  shall  live 
Within  thy  heart  for  aye : 


32  UTTEBANCE. 

Recall  this  weary,  parting  hour 

Some  future,  distant  day, 
And  thou  wilt  start  to  find  that  yet, 
With  all  thy  care,  —  thou  did'st  forget! 


Y01CES      OF     AFFECTION.  33 


THE     GIFT. 


SHE  gave  me  a  rose-bud  —  the  latest 

That  bloomed  on  her  favorite  tree  — 
And  smilingly  said,  "  "Tis  the  last  one, 

Yet,  dearest,  I've  culled  it  for  thee." 
I  took  the  sweet  gift  with  a  gladness 

That  thrilled  to  my  innermost  breast, — 
A  gladness  aroused  by  that  whisper, 

'"Tis  thine,  love,  —  the  latest  and  best.'' 

I  prize  not  the  favors  oft  lavished 
Where  riches  and  plenty  abound, — 

The  gift  of  a  blossom  when  thousands 
Just  like  it  are  blooming  around  ;  — 

But  when,  like  this  delicate  rose-bud, 
Some  token  of  friendship  is  mine 
3 


34  UTTERANCE. 

All  warm  with  the  heart's  best  devotion, 
Not  Ind  the  sweet  gift  can  outshine. 

Then  thanks  for  thine  off'ring,  my  own  one ! 

I'll  keep  it  tho'  withered  and  dead. 
It  still  breathes  a  tale  of  affection 

Altho'  its  sweet  beauty  has  fled. 
It  brings  me  dear  thoughts  of  the  giver, 

And  lovingly  whispers  to  me 
Thine  own  precious  words,  "  'Tis  the  last  one, 

Yet,  dearest,  I've  culled  it  for  thee  !  " 


VOICES      OF     AFFECTION.  35 


"KISS     ME." 

MY  heart  is  yearning  for  the  tone 
And  smile  of  a  beloved  one. 
If  she  were  here,  I'd  softly  say, 
"  Dearest,  before  we  part  to-day, 

Kiss  me ! " 

Dear  darling,  when  my  heart  is  sad, 
And  when  my  pulse  beats  warm  and  glad,  — 
Whatever  be  my  spirit's  tone, 
In  crowds  together,  or  alone, 

Kiss  me ! 

Thus  may  I  ever  say  to  thee  : 
"  Though  other  friends  may  lose  for  me 
The  look  of  love  that  once  they  wore, 
I  love  thee,  darling,  more  and  more  !  — 

Kiss  me  !  " 


36  UTTERANCE 


CARRIE. 

"  It  must  be  sweet  in  childhood  to  give  back 
The  spirit  to  its  Maker."  WILLIS. 

DYING  in  beauty  —  ere  sorrow  has  taken 

One  tint  from  the  rose  that  lay  warm  on  her  cheek ; 

Before  the  dark  shadows  that  follow  Life's  morning 
Have  shrouded  our  Blossom  so  lovely  and  meek ! 

Dying  in  beauty  —  tho'  now,  alas,  wasted, 

Round  were  her  limbs  in  their  delicate  grace ;  — 

Fair  glowed  her  cheek  with  the  flush  of  enjoyment;  — 
Bright  was  the  sunshine  that  laughed  in  her  face. 

Dying  in  youth  —  not  decrepit  and  aged, 

Weary  and  earth- worn  and  sick  of  the  strife  — 

Called  to  the  grave  in  the  morn  of  existence, 
Summoned  to  Death,  from  the  threshold  of  Life ! 


VOICES      OF     AFFECTION.  37 

Dying  in  peace :  —  On  her  fair,  tranquil  bosom 
Rest  her  white  fingers,  so  wasted  and  thin ; 

Over  her  features  a  calm  smile  is  straying, 
Type  of  the  peace  of  God  reigning  within. 

Dying  beloved  —  not  unwept  and  uncared-for  ;  — 
Tears  fall  in  showers  on  the  face  of  the  child 

Under  the  snowy  sheet  dreaming  so  peacefully, 
Meeting  strange  Death  with  an  aspect  so  mild  ! 

Breathe  in  her  ear  the  dear  hymns  of  her  childhood 
When  she  awakes  from  her  death-like  repose ; 

Press  on  her  forehead  sweet  kisses  of  fondness, 
Place  in  her  bosom  a  half-blossomed  rose. 

Smile  on  her  pleasantly  —  tell  her  not  gloomily 
Death,  the  grim  tyrant,  is  coming  anon  ;  — 

Say  to  her,  "  Darling,  an  angel  is  waiting, 
Eager  to  take  thee  where  Jesus  has  gone." 

Gently  and  quietly  smooth  down  her  pillow, 
Gather  fresh  roses  to  lay  in  her  hand  ; 

Soon  will  her  weary  soul,  loosed  and  unfettered, 
Plume  its  faint  wing  for  the  sweet  spirit-land  ! 


38  TJ  T  T  E  RANG  E. 

Dim  o'er  her  forehead,  her  white,  dewy  forehead, 
Cluster  the  shadowy  waves  of  her  hair,  — 

Smooth  them  not,  tho'  it  be  never  so  tenderly, — 
Leave  them  untouched  in  their  loveliness  there. 

Close  on  her  cheek  lie  her  fair,  blue-veined  eyelids, 
Hiding  the  beauty  that  slumbers  beneath, — 

Tremulous  now  with  the  throbbings  of  weakness ; 
Soon  they  will  rest  in  the  quiet  of  death  ! 

Peace  to  thy  slumber,  thou  lovely  and  stricken  one, 
Peace  —  tho'  thou  wake  from  it  only  to  die. 

Strange  that  the  spoiler  should  breathe  on  such  freshness  ! 
Strange  that  such  beauty  in  darkness  should  lie  ! 

Gently  and  quietly  smooth  down  her  pillow, 
Gather  fresh  roses  to  lay  in  her  hand ; 

Soon  will  her  happy  soul,  loosed  and  unfettered, 
Plume  its  white  wing  for  the  sweet  spirit-land. 

Dying  in  childhood  —  in  peace  and  in  beauty,  — 
Dying  with  love  o'er  the  dark  way  to  shine, — 

"Who,  thou  sweet  child,  while  they  wept,  would  not  envy  ? 
Who  would  not  wish  for  an  exit  like  thine? 


Y  DICES      OF     AFFECT  ION.  39 


THE    PORTRAIT. 

AN  INCIDENT. 

I  MET  her  in  a  shady  dell 
One  pleasant  summer  day, — 

A  fair,  bewitching,  smiling  child, 
With  buds  and  flowers  at  play  : 

I  started  back  in  quick  surprise, 

And  pressed  my  hands  on  both  my  eyes  ! 

I  scarcely  could  believe  my  sight !  — 

That  sweet  one  in  her  glee, 
So  beautiful  and  pure  —  so  like, 

So  very  like  to  thee,  — 
It  seemed  as  though  thine  own  dear  face 
Were  raised  to  mine  in  childish  grace  ! 

There  was  the  same  unwritten  brow, — 
The  same  dark-fringed  lid, — 


40  U  T  TE  KANCE. 

The  same  blue  eyes  that  smiled  beneath, 

Like  violets  half  hid  ;  — 
And  lips  just  parted,  —  so  like  thine, 
I  bent  to  press  them  close  to  mine. 

And  dimples  played  upon  her  cheek, 
And  curls  of  soft  brown  hair ; 

Awhile  I  fancied  'twas  no  dream 
That  held  me  breathless  there, — 

Forgetting  years  had  passed  away 

Since  we  were  little  ones  at  play. 

Long,  troubled  years  —  and  Time  since  then 

Has  written  change  on  each, 
And  taught  us  many  a  weary  thing 

That  Time  alone  can  teach. 
They  say  I  should  not  know  thee  now 
With  thy  changed  face  and  altered  brow. 

The  bloom  has  vanished  from  thy  cheek, 
And  left  it  pale  as  snow ; 


VOICES      OF     AFFECTION.  41 

I  cannot  think  of  thee,  my  friend, 

Disguised  and  altered  so  ? 
I  cannot  picture  thee  as  years 
Have  made  thee  with  their  wand  of  tears  ! 

I  can  recall  thee  but  as  when 

"We  parted  long  ago. 
My  Beautiful !  how  very  fair 

I  thought  thee  in  thy  woe, — 
Thy  drooping,  shadowy  eyes  all  wet 
With  tears  of  sadness  and  regret,  — 

Thy  warm  cheek  resting  on  my  own, — 
Thy  quick  breath  meeting  mine,  — 

And  thy  rich  curls  —  alas,  no  more 
Bewitchingly  they  shine  ! 

I  could  not  twine  them  now,  as  then, 

With  flower-buds  from  the  grassy  glen  ! 

My  early  Friend,  my  Beautiful, 
My  Own,  my  Unforgot, 


42  TT  T  TEHANC  E. 

To  other  eyes  thou  may'st  be  changed, 

To  me  thou  changes t  not ; 
I  see  thee  after  years  have  past, 
As  fair  as  when  I  saw  thee  last. 


I  see  thee  in  my  nightly  dreams  ;  — 

Thou  comest  in  my  sleep, 
Lifting  thy  calm,  pure  face  to  mine, 

All  beautiful  and  meek  ; 
With  just  the  glance  of  that  sweet  child 
I  met  in  yonder  valley  wild. 

I  would  that  I  could  meet  again 
That  fair  and  smiling  girl ;  — 

I  know  she  stole  her  lips  from  thee, 
Her  radiant  brow  and  curl ;  — 

I  know,  at  least,  there  could  not  be 

More  perfect  portraiture  of  thee  ! 


VOICES      OF     AFFECT 10  X  .  43 


TO     .... 

I'VE  felt  so  many  lips  grow  cold, 

That  once  prest  mine  with  love's  warm  token, 
I've  known  so  many  vows  decay, 

Almost  before  the  words  were  spoken,  — 
I've  seen  so  many  friends,  once  dear, 

Pass  me  with  cold,  averted  eye, — 
That  I  have  almost  learned  to  doubt 
The  strength  of  human  constancy. 

Yet  still  I  turn  to  thee,  sweet  friend, 

And  with  a  love  now  warm  and  glowing, 

I  place  this  trusting  hand  in  thine, 

With  it,  the  while,  my  heart  bestowing. 

And  yet,  perhaps,  we  two  shall  grow 
Unfriendly  in  the  lapse  of  years  ! 

But  wherefore  speak  I  thus  ?  —  Forgive  — 

My  heart  is  full  —  my  eyes  o'erflow  with  tears  ! 


44  UTTERANCE 


THE    MYSTIC    HARP. 


THE  human  Heart  —  it  is  a  strange 

And  a  mysterious  thing  ; 
An  instrument  of  wondrous  power,  — 

Each  pulse  a  tremhling  string. 
And  hourly  on  this  mystic  Harp 

Play  the  great  hands  of  Time, — 
Drawing  strange  discords  from  its  strings 

Or  melody  sublime. 

He  bids  pale  Sorrow  touch  the  chords, 
And  sobbing  sounds  are  heard  ; 

He  summons  Joy — and  quick  the  notes 
Are  gleeful  as  a  bird  ! 

He  calls  rude  Anger,  and  her  hands 
Sweep  wildly  o'er  the  strings, 


VOICES      OF     AFFECTION.  45 

And  oft  to  try  this  mystic  Harp 
Love  and  Regret  he  brings. 

Be  thine  a  sweet  ^Eolian  Harp 

Touched  by  the  winds  alone, 
Which,  be  they  rough  or  gentle,  draw 

The  same  melodious  tone. 
Then,  though  old  Time  assault  it  oft 

With  breezes  rough  and  high, 
Thy  heart  shall  know  but  one  response, — 

Sweet,  tuneful  melody! 


40  TJ  T  TE  RANG  E 


TO    ....    IN    ABSENCE. 

I  HATE  been  gazing  on  the  stars, 
That  like  sweet  angels'  eyes 

Are  smiling  on  me  from  their  homes 
In  the  far  distant  skies ;  — 

So  lovingly  their  glances  shine, 

I  cannot  choose  but  think  of  thine. 

I  have  been  looking  at  the  flowers, 
And  stealing  from  their  bloom 

Full  many  a  sweet  delicious  breath, 
All  laden  with  perfume  ;  — 

But  not  a  flower's  soft  lips  met  mine, 

That  did  not  make  me  think  of  thine. 

I'm  out  upon  the  hills  to  woo 
The  cooling  breezes  now ;  — 


VOICES      OF     AFFECTION.         ,  47 

How  soothingly  the  soft  winds  lay 

Their  light  hands  on  my  brow  !  — 
I  start  as  if  thine  own  were  there, 
Parting  the  tresses  of  my  hair  ! 

A  dark  curl  floats  upon  the  breeze, 

And  laughing  tones  are  nigh, — 
I  know  they  are  not  thine,  —  and  yet, 

I  fancy  thou  art  by ;  — 
For  not  one  pleasant  thing  I  see, 
Or  hear,  but  makes  me  think  of  thee  ! 


I'm  glad  my  spirit  links  thy  name 
With  every  gladsome  sight, — 

I'm  glad  I  cannot  hear  a  sound 
That  fills  me  with  delight, 

But  that  I  feel  thy  soul  is  nigh, 

Haunting  that  same  sweet  melody. 

I  would  not  change  these  happy  thoughts 
That  glad  me  night  and  day, 


48  UTTERANCE. 

That  make  thee  ever  near  my  side, 

Tho'  absent  far  away :  — 
Only  thy  living  presence  nigh, 
Can  bid  these  pleasant  fancies  fly. 

'Till  then  I'll  meet  in  every  star, 
Thine  own  sweet,  earnest  gaze, — 

Thy  breath  in  every  flower,  —  thy  touch, 
In  each  soft  wind  that  plays  — 

And  link  with  every  pleasant  tone, 

Some  treasured  cadence  of  thine  own. 


VOICES      OF     AFFECTION.  49 


DREAMS. 

I  HAVE  dreams  of  a  fair  little  cot  of  our  own 

Where  Love  and  Contentment  shall  smile ; 
Of  a  form  that  is  near  me  when  daylight  is  done, 

And  a  hand  in  my  own  all  the  while  ; 
I  have  dreams  of  a  casement  thrown  up  to  the  night, 

With  roses  and  vines  peeping  thro' ; 
And  while  I  am  dreaming  these  dreams  of  delight, 

I'm  all  the  time  thinking  —  of  you  ! 
4 


50  UTTERANCE 


ROSABELLE. 

A  THING  all  life  and  sunshine, 

A  glad  and  happy  child, 
With  spirits  ever  changing, 

Half  earnest  and  half  wild ; 
As  fleet  a  little  fairy 

As  ever  graced  a  dell, 
Or  frolicked  in  a  blossom, 

Is  our  sweet  Rosabelle. 

I  wish  that  you  could  meet  her  ! 

Her  clear  and  happy  eyes 
Would  break  upon  your  vision 

Like  light  from  Paradise  ! 
You'd  know  her  in  a  moment  — 

You  could' n't  help  it  well  — 
For  there's  no  other  like  her  — 

Our  own,  dear  Rosabelle, 


TOICES      OF     AFFECTION.  51 

Her  brow  is  just  as  open, 

And  sunny  as  the  day  ; 
And  curls  are  dancing  o'er  it, 

In  their  unfettered  play. 
Ah  !  loveliness  and  beauty 

Have  thrown  their  brightest  spell 
Around  our  darling  blossom  — 

Our  witching  Rosabelle  ! 

Her  mouth  is  made  for  kisses, 

And  when  she  lifts  her  face, 
She  seems  to  ask  the  tribute, 

With  her  unconscious  grace. 
Her  lips  are  ripe  and  glowing, 

With  just  that  pouting  swell 
That  painters  love  to  copy  — 

Our  peerless  Rosabelle  ! 

Her  voice  is  soft  and  child-like, 

Yet  gleeful  as  a  bird's  ; 
I  love  to  list  the  cadence 

Of  her  half- warbled  words. 


52  TJ  T  TE  KANCE. 

Her  laugh  is  like  the  music 
Of  some  sweet  silver  bell ; 

I  hear  it  in  the  passage, 
And  know  'tis  Rosabelle. 

A  thing  all  life  and  sunshine, 

A  glad  and  happy  child, 
With  spirits  ever  changing, 

Half  earnest  and  half  wild ; 
As  fleet  a  little  fairy 

As  ever  graced  a  dell, 
Or  frolicked  in  a  blossom, 

Is  our  sweet  Rosabelle  ! 


VOICES      OP     AFFECTION.  53 


A    HEART-THOUGHT. 

I  LOVE  thee,  oh  so  dearly !     Never  flowers 
Turned  with  such  passionate  fondness  to  the  sun 
As  I  to  thee,  my  treasure  !     I,  the  flower, 
And  thou,  the  warm,  bright  sun ! 


64  UTTERANCE. 


•TAIL    ME    NOT    THOU." 

FAIL  me  not  thou  !  —  How  dark  would  be 
This  heart  without  thy  love  and  truth  !  — 

I  could  not  teach  it  to  forget 
The  happy  lessons  of  its  youth ; 

I  could  not  bid  it  think  of  thee 

Less  warmly  or  less  constantly. 

Fail  me  not  thou  !  —  I  could  not  bear 
To  have  thy  tones  less  kind  than  now ; 

And  oh,  I  could  not  see  thee  wear 
An  altered  look  upon  thy  brow  — 

Twould  be  to  me  a  fearful  thing 

Thus  in  the  dust  my  hopes  to  fling ! 

Fail  me  not  thou  !  —  Thou  could' st  not  find 
A  truer  heart  to  cling  to  thee 


VOICES      OF     AFFECTION.  55 

Through  joy  and  grief,  than  has  been  mine, 

Nor  one  that  loved  more  earnestly ; 
For  art  thou  not  my  life,  my  pride  ?  — 
Dearer  than  all  the  earth  beside  ? 

Fail  me  not  thou  !  —  Oh,  I  have  poured 
My  heart's  whole  treasure  upon  thine, 

And  deemed  that  Heaven  could  not  afford 
One  joy  like  this  —  to  call  thee  mine  ! 

'Twas  sinful  thus  to  bow  the  knee 

With  such  idolatry  to  thee  ! 

Fail  me  not  thou !  —  For  I  did  learn 
Too  well  the  lessons  thou  hast  taught ; 

It  did  not  need  a  teacher  stern 

To  do  the  work  thy  hand  has  wrought  ; 

For  thou  did'st  talk  of  love,  and  I 

Listened,  alas,  too  willingly. 

Then  fail  me  not !  —  My  heart  would  be 
So  sad  without  thy  love  and  truth  !  — 


56  T7TTEKANCE. 

I  could  not  teach  it  to  forget 

The  happy  lesF  ons  of  its  youth ; 
I  could  not  bid  it  think  of  thee 
Less  warmly  or  less  constantly ! 


T01CES      OF     AFFECTION.  57 


A    SISTER'S    MEMORY. 

MY  sister,  my  own  sister, 

How  desolate  seem  the  years 
Since  last  we  said  good-bye  to  thee 

Amid  our  falling  tears  ! 
God  called  thee  to  a  stranger  land, 

To  bless  a  stranger  shore, 
To  live  —  nay,  die  for  other  hearts  ; 

—  Thou  wilt  return  no  more  ! 

My  sister,  my  own  sister, 

It  seems  so  like  a  dream 
That  we  may  never  meet  again 

Thine  eye's  soft,  shadowy  gleam ! 
Thou  wast  the  fairest  of  us  all, 

The  loveliest  of  the  band,  — 
God  chose  the  sweetest  flower  to  plant 

Within  the  better  land. 


58  UTTERANCE. 

I  know  'tis  only  fancy, 

But  sometimes,  even  now, 
I  think  I  see  thy  calm,  sweet  face, 

And  .press' thine  earnest  brow. 
Again  my  hand  is  linked  with  thine 

Just  as  it  used  to  be, 
And  we  are  bounding  side  by  side, 

As  in  those  days  of  glee. 

And  then  my  heart  grows  calmer, 

And  sweet  tears  fill  my  eyes, 
Although  the  while  I  stand  and  gaze 

Upon  the  far-off  skies  ; 
I  know  thy  home  is  there  —  I  know 

How  happy  thou  must  be, 
And  yet  the  tears  will  fill  my  eyes 

Whene'er  I  think  of  thee. 

My  sister,  my  own  sister, 
They  say  that  I  am  gay  — 

That  I've  forgotten  her  they  laid 
In  the  cold  earth  away  — 


YOICES      OF     AFFECTION.  59 

'Tis  true  my  laugh  will  sometimes  ring 

With  its  old  tone  of  glee, 
Bnt  only  when  my  girlish  thoughts 

One  moment  turn  from  thee. 

Oh,  often  when  the  twilight 

With  sorrowing  step  draws  nigh, 
And  stars  are  stealing  one  by  one 

Like  spirits  o'er  the  sky, 
I  hasten  to  thy  quiet  room, 

(They  do  not  know  I'm  there,) 
Thy  little  quiet  room,  and  pour 

My  weary  heart  in  prayer. 

My  sister,  my  own  sister, 

It  seems  a  holier  place 
Than  any  spot  besides  on  earth, 

For  all  the  while  thy  face 
Seems  looking  fondly  into  mine 

With  that  meek,  earnest  gaze 
It  used  to  wear  when  thou  wast  here 

In  other,  sunnier  days. 


60  TJTTERAKCE. 

My  sister,  my  own  sister, 

How  happy  were  we  then  ! 
—  And  yet  my  spirit  does  not  love 

To  call  it  back  again. 
I  think  of  quick,  ungentle  words, 

And  looks  unkindly  given, 
And  wonder  if  they  grieve  thee  now 

That  thou  hast  passed  to  heaven. 

Alas,  my  own,  sweet  sister, 

If  thou  wast  with  me  now, 
How  soothingly  I'd  part  thy  hair 

And  bathe  thine  aching  brow  !  — 
I'd  cull  for  thee  my  fairest  flowers, 

And  sing  my  sweetest  song, 
And  sit  beside  thee  all  the  day, 

And  watch  the  whole  night  long. 

But  God  has  called  thee,  darling, 
To  better  things  above, 

And  all  that's  left  us  now  are  these 
Sweet  mem'ries  of  thy  love. 


VOICES      OF     AFFECTION.  61 

And  this  dear  legacy  shall  be 

A  link  in  that  blest  chain 
By  which  our  souls  one  day  shall  rise 

To  dwell  with  thine  again. 


62  UTTERANCE. 


A    SISTER'S    GRAVE. 

SHE  sleeps  beneath  a  glorious  sky, 
The  blue  dome  of  the  palmy  East ; 

Above  her  troops  of  stars  go  by, 

And  when,  their  wondrous  dance  has  ceased. 

The  first,  warm  kisses  of  the  sun 

Fall  gently  on  our  sleeping  one. 

Afar  from  noise,  remote  from  strife, 
She  lies  who  was  our  love  and  pride ; 

Meek,  gentle,  quiet  in  her  life, 

Like  peace  in  death  is  not  denied; 

And  her  last  sleep  is  undisturbed 

By  tumult  from  the  noisy  herd. 

Rest,  dear  one,  in  thy  far-off  bed,  — 
The  grieving  night-dews  o'er  thee  weep, 


YOICES      OF     AFFECTION.  63 

But  flowers  are  round  thee,  and  o'erhead, 

The  warm,  bright  stars  their  vigils  keep. 
'Tis  beautiful  to  know  that  thou 
Art  sleeping  in  such  quiet  now  ! 

The  Mussulman  may  breathe  a  curse 
Perchance  above  the  blossoming  sod, 

Where  the  dear  flower  our  love  did  nurse 
Waits  the  transplanting  of  her  God  ; 

But  in  a  thousand  hearts  beside, 

Sweet  thoughts  are  linked  with  her  who  died. 

With  her  who  died  —  but  not  before 

The  mission  of  her  life  was  done  ; 
'Twas  hers  to  win  the  wand'rer  o'er 

And  point  him  to  the  Bleeding  One  ; 
To  pour  on  eyelids  wrapped  in  night 
The  radiance  of  the  gospel  light. 

To  teach  the  untaught,  to  lead  the  lame, 
To  breathe  upon  the  dull  deaf  ear 


64  UTTERANCE. 

The  music  of  a  Saviour's  name  ; 

To  guide  the  weak,  the  faint  to  cheer ; 
And,  in  her  every  act,  to  show 
What  love  could  do  for  God  below. 

Sleep,  dear  one,  —  we  may  never  gaze 
Upon  the  mound  that  marks  thy  rest, 

But  we  shall  meet  thee  face  to  face 
In  God's  dear  kingdom,  and  be  blest ; 

And  so  we  leave  thee  to  thy  sleep, 

With  eyes  that  smile  as  well  as  weep. 


VOICES      OF     AFFECTION.  65 


MARY. 

LAY  her  hands  evenly  on  her  breast, 
And  leave  her  to  her  rest  — 
She  was  of  Heaven  —  not  of  Earth  — 
God  called  her  from  her  birth. 

Stay  —  let  me  look  on  her  once  more  ;  — 
How  calm,  and  pale,  and  still  she  lies  ! 

She  never  looked  like  this  before  — 
I  remember  how  in  her  eyes 
A  sudden  flash  of  mirth  would  rise,  — 

And  how,  around  those  lips  so  pale, 

Would  float  and  then  exhale 

Love's  warmest  and  most  tremulous  sighs 
And  now  she  lies, 

As  I  have  said, 

All  pale,  and  calm,  and  cold,  and  dead! 
5 


66  IT  TTEBANCE. 

Oh,  I  could  weep, 

Only  she  lies  in  such  a  holy  sleep ! 

So  fair  and  still, 

That  if  I  wept  'twould  be  against  my  will. 


So  lay  her  hands  evenly  on  her  breast, 
And  leave  her  to  her  rest; 
She  was  of  Heaven  —  not  of  Earth  — 
God  called  her  from  her  birth. 


But  no  !  —  fold  back  the  snow-white  sheet  - 
Not  half  so  white  as  her  marble  brow  — 

How  lovely  in  her  slumber  sweet, 
Looks  the  pale  Dreamer  now ! 

Dreamer?  —  oh  no — her  dreams  are  done! 

The  latest  and  the  fairest  one 

She  woke  from,  when  she  gave  her  hand 

Unto  the  waiting  angel-band 

Who  led  her  into  the  heavenly  land. 


VOICES      OF     AFFECTION.  67 

What  a  bright  waking  't  must  have  been, 

Free  from  sorrow,  free  from  sin  ! 

Tho',  of  a  truth,  she  little  knew 

Of  sorrow,  for  her  griefs  were  few ; 

And,  for  her  sins  —  God  knows  them  all  — 

But  to  us  they  look  scant  and  small. 

She  was  always  good  and  mild 

From  being  a  little  child  — 

A  little  child  —  I  see  her  now, 

A  fair,  bright,  little  child  again, — 
With  a  warm,  glorious  brow, 

And  a  smile  that  flitted  now  and  then 
Over  her  features,  like  the  gleam 

Of  moonlight  on  the  snow, 
Only  a  kindlier,  warmer  beam  ;  — 

But  that  was  years  ago  : 
And  now  how  uselessly  I  dream !  — 
For  never  will  her  features  more 
Wear  the  old  look  —  the  look  they  wore 
In  those  bright  days  of  yore, 
Those  blessed,  blessed  days  of  yore  ! 


68  UTTERANCE. 

So  lay  her  hands  evenly  on  her  breast, 
And  leave  her  to  her  rest ; 
She  was  of  Heaven  —  not  of  Earth  — 
God  called  her  from  her  birth! 


YOICES      OF     AFFECTION.  69 


SONNET. 

LIKE  the  first  star  that  heralds  glorious  Eve, — 

Like  the  first  blush  that  beckons  in  the  Day, — 
Like  the  first  snow-drop  lavish  Aprils  weave 
To  deck  the  bosom  of  the  festive  May,  — 
Like  the  warm  carol  of  the  early  bird 
Whose  note  was  mute  before  or  idly  heard, — 
Like  all  dear  things  just  bursting,  —  like  the  bloom 
Of  the  fresh  rose-bud  rending  its  green  tomb, — 
So  burst  thy  love  upon  my  helpless  life, 
Dear  Mother,  when  that  hour  of  pain  and  strife 
That  laid  me  in  thine  arms,  gave  place  to  tears 
Of  exquisite,  sweet  joy  and  holy  fears  ! 
Thy  love,  dear  Mother,  warmed  me  into  birth, 
Nor  shall  its  ray  depart  while  either  dwell  on  earth ! 


VOICES   OF   CHEER. 


VOICES   OF  CHEER. 


TRY. 

AT  least,  I'll  try  !     There  never  yet 

Was  anything  lost  by  trying  ; 
And,  if  I  fail,  what  matters  it  ?  — 

There's  still  no  room  for  a  useless  sighing. 
I'll  prove  whatever  within  me  lies 

That's  worth  the  pains  to  find  it ; 
Since,  where  I  fail,  it  is  surely  best 

To  know  the  lack  tho'  I  may  not  mind  it. 

Life  has  a  secret  that  all  might  guess 
With  a  little  care  and  trouble,  — 

There's  never  a  Lion  in  the  way, 
But  a  faint  heart  always  sees  it  double. 


74  U  TIE  RANG  E. 

Up !  faint  heart,  with  the  strength  thou  hast ! 

One  at  the  act  will  vanish, 
And,  for  the  other,  there's  strength  enow 

To  battle  the  beast  if  thou  canst  not  banish. 

"  Stretch  forth  thine  hand,''  said  the  Christ  divine 

To  the  withered,  sick  Judean, 
—  And  the  brave  man  lifted  a  palm  restored, 

In  sight  of  the  gracious  Galilean  ! 
"  Stretch  forth  thine  hand,"  is  the  mandate  still, 

Spite  of  its  guilty  weakness  — 
Courage  and  firm  Faith,  Christ-like,  heal 

The  palsied  palm  that  is  raised  in  meekness. 

Lifted  in  meekness,  but  not  in  doubt ; 

Raised  with  a  brave  endeavor  ; 
Lifted  to  grapple  with  Sloth  and  Sin ; 

Raised  with  a  purpose  faltering  never  ! 
Heaven  and  Justice  and  Truth  will  help 

The  soul  thus  firm  and  fearless, 
Granting  at  length  in  the  noble  end, 

A  great,  brave  victory,  strong  and  tearless  ! 


YOICES      OJF      CHEEB.  75 


AN    INCIDENT. 

SAKAH  paused  anear  the  window, 

Gathered  up  her  baby  form, 
And  with  pleased,  incredulous  wonder, 

Gazed  upon  the  wintry  storm. 
Slowly  fell  the  glittering  snow-flakes, 

One  by  one,  like  blossoms  fair 
Rifled  from  some  bower  of  roses 

By  the  covetous,  summer  air ;  — 
Nearer  drew  the  child,  her  eyes 
Dilating  with  a  large  surprise. 

"  Flowers !  "  at  length  she  murmurs  softly, 

Upward  gazing  all  the  while, 
Till  the  fancy  warms  her  features 

With  a  bright,  exulting  smile. 
Bravo  !  she  has  solved  the  problem 

To  her  own  sweet  faith,  at  least, 


76  U  TIE  K,  ANC  E. 

And  she  hugs  the  dear  illusion. 

Till  the  glittering  show  has  ceased  ; 
Seeing  only  in  the  storm 

Summer  blossoms  fresh  and  warm  ! 

Darling,  show  my  heart  the  lesson  ;  — 

When  Life's  dreary  tempests  rise, 
Teach  me  how  to  stand  and  face  them 

With  thy  hopeful,  happy  eyes  !  — 
In  each  trial  well  surmounted 

Finding  germs  of  future  bliss, 
Till  I  reach  that  happier  dwelling, 

Where,  in  looking  back,  on  this, 
I  shall  see  Life's  stormiest  hours 

Wove  for  me  but  sweetest  flowers  ! 


VOICES      OF      CHEER.  77 


"  Weeping  may  endure  for  a  night,  but  joy  cometh  in  the 
morning."  PSALMS. 

ROUSE  thee,  child  of  sorrow, 

Lay  thy  sadness  by  ; 
Look  !  —  a  brighter  morrow 

Dawneth  in  the  sky. 
Night  is  passing  over, 

Vanishing  away ; 
Rouse  thee  to  discover 

Signs  of  coming  day. 

Wherefore  weeping  ever, 

Eyes  bent  on  the  ground  ? 
See  !  look  upward  !  —  never 

Played  such  light  around  ! 
What  in  all  this  gladness 

O'er  thee  kindly  spread, 
Seest  thou  for  sadness  ? 

—  Lone  one,  lift  thy  head. 


78  TJTTEKANCE. 

True  the  Past  looks  dreary, 

True  the  night  was  long, 
True  thy  heart  is  weary, 

All  untuned  to  song. 
But  why  look  behind  thee  ?  — 

Wherefore  yield  to  grief  ?  — 
Tears  can  never  find  thee 

Comfort  or  relief. 

Bid  the  "  dead  Past "  hurry 

With  his  phantoms  grim 
Far  away  —  and  bury, 

Bury  them  and  Him  ! 
Sepulchre  thy  weakness, 

Lay  it  all  away,  — 
And  in  trusting  meekness 

Wait  the  coming  day. 

Selfish  is  the  sorrow 
That  refuses  balm, 

Loth  from  Heaven  to  borrow 
Happiness  and  calm  ;  — 


VOICES      OF      CHEEK.  79 

Evil  is  the  spirit 

That  will  ne'er  look  up, 
When  some  friend  to  cheer  it 

Lifts  the  soothing  cup. 

Rouse  thee  then  from  weeping, 

Rouse  thee  from  regret ; 
List  the  Future's  teaching,  — 

"  Rally  and  forget !  " 
Strong  for  coming  sorrow 

If  't  must  needs  le  so, 
Hope  that  each  to-morrow 

Brighter  signs  will  show. 


80  UTTERANCE. 


A    LESSON. 

SLOWLY    to   my   sleepless    eyelids    crept   the   hours  of 

night  away, 
Till  athwart   the  shrouded  windows  stole  the  dawning 

of  the  day. 

Deep  unquiet  rilled  my  bosom  —  all  God's  ways  seemed 

dark  and  blind, 
All  his  dealings   with  my  spirit   strangely  hidden   and 

unkind. 

Wearily  I  raised    the    curtain,  for   my   heart   was   full 

of  gloom, 
When   a  host  of  golden    sunbeams    swept    like    magic 

thro'  the  room  !  — 

Lighting   up    the    dismal    hangings,    sparkling    on    the 
dear  old  wall, 


VOICES      OF     CHEER.  81 

Shedding   such  a  blessed    radiance,  such    a    glory  over 
all! 

Every  shadow  from  my  chamber  with  my  lifted  curtain 

fled, 
Leaving  only  golden  sunbeams,  Heaven's  dear  sunshine 

there  instead. 

Then  I  thought    how  o'er  my  spirit  hung  the  folds  of 

doubt  and  sin, 
Shutting  out  Heaven's  blessed  sunshine  that  would  else 

come  crowding  in. 

And  my  heart  grew  warm  and  trustful  where  it  was  so 

cold  before, 
And    the    ways  of   God    no    longer    such    a    guise    of 

sternness  wore. 

Silently  His  blessed  angels  swept  the  curtain  from  my 

soul, 
And  the  sunlight  of  His  Presence  over  all  my  being 

stole. 

6 


82  U  T  TEKANCE. 

For    the    angels    hover    nearest,     where    the    darkest 

shadows  fall, 
But  for  quiet  trust  and   patience   looking  ere  they  lift 

the  pall. 

Therefore,  oh  ye  worn   and  weary,  sad    like    me,  and 

faithless  too, 
Wait  in  patience,  nothing  doubting  that  the  dear  God 

waits  with  you,  — 

Eager  to  uplift  the   sorrows  when  its   gracious   end  is 

won, 
When  the  spirit,  stilled  and  conquered,  breathes  "  Thy 

will,  not  mine,  be  done  !  " 


VOICES      OF     CHEEB.  83 


TRUST    TO    THE    FUTURE. 

TETJST  to  the  Future ;  —  Tho'  gloomy  and  cheerless, 

Prowls  the  dark  Past  like  a  ghost  at  thy  back, 
Look  not  behind  thee ;  —  be  hopeful  and  fearless ; 
Steer  for  the  right  way,  and  keep  to  the  track ! 
Fling  off  Despair,  —  it  has  strength  like  a  giant  — 
Shoulder  thy  Purpose,  and,  boldly  defiant, 
Save  to  the  Right  stand  unmoved  and  unpliant ! 
Faith  and  God's  promise  the  brave  never  lack. 

Trust  to  the  Future  ;  —  The  Present  may  fright  thee, 
Scowling  so  fearfully  close  at  thy  side ; 

Face  it  unmoved,  and  no  Present  can  blight  thee  — 
He  who  stands  boldly  each  blast  shall  abide. 

Never  a  storm  but  the  tainted  air  needs  it, 

Never  a  storm  but  the  sunshine  succeeds  it ; 

Each  has  a  lesson,  and  he  alone  reads  it 

Rightly,  who  takes  it  and  makes  it  his  guide. 


84  UTTERANCE. 

Trust  to  tlie  Future ;  —  It  stands  like  an  angel, 
Waiting  to  lead  thee,  to  bless  and  to  cheer  ; 

Singing  of  hope  like  some  blessed  Evangel, 
Luring  thee  on  to  a  brighter  career. 

Why  should  the  Past  or  the  Present  oppress  thee  ? 

Stamp  on  their  coils,  for,  with  arms  to  caress  thee, 

See,  the  great  Future  stands  yearning  to  bless  thee  ; 
Press  boldly  forward,  nor  yield  to  a  fear ! 

Trust  to  the  Future  ;  —  It  will  not  deceive  thee, 

So  thou  but  meet  it  with  brave  heart  and  strong ; 
Now  begin  living  anew,  and,  believe  me, 

Gladness  and  Triumph  will  follow  ere  long. 
Never  a  night  but  there  cometh  a  morrow, 
Never  a  grief  but  the  hopeful  will  borrow 
Something  of  gladness  to  lighten  the  sorrow ; 
Life  unto  such  is  a  conqueror's  song ! 

Trust  to  the  Future,  then  ;  —  Cease  from  your  weeping  ; 

Faith  and  a  firm  heart  are  all  that  you  need  — 
God  and  his  angels  have  yet  in  their  keeping 

Harvests  of  joy  if  we'll  sow  but  the  seed! 


VOICES      OF     CHEER.  85 

Trust  to  the  Future,  —  all  life  will  be  glorious  ; 
Trust,  —  for  in  trusting  the  soul  is  victorious  ; 
Trust,  —  and  in  trusting  be  strong  and  laborious  ; 
Up  and  be  doing,  and  give  God  the  meed ! 


- 


A  VOICE   FOR   THE   POOR. 


A  ArOICE  FOR  THE  POOR. 


PUT  out  the  light 

And  look  into  the  night. 
Raise  the  curtain  high  and  higher, 
Quench  the  glare  of  the  blinding  fire, 
So  may  we  look  to  our  hearts'  desire 

Into  the  night !  — 
Into  the  face  of  the  black,  black  night. 

What  a  sight !  — 

Earth  seems  maddened  with  affright ! 
Hear  the  wild  Wind  shrieking,  roaring, 
Mercy  from  the  Storm  imploring. 
The  merciless  Storm,  that  never  hears 
The  wild  Wind  pleading  in  his  ears, 
Praying  for  a  little  space, 
A  little  slackening  in  the  race. 


90  UTTERANCE. 

But  the  pitiless  sleet  keeps  flying  on 

Here  and  there  and  everywhere, 

Challenging  the  weary  air 
To  another  race  now  this  is  won. 
Merciless  Storm,  we  pray  thee,  hark 

To  the  wild  Wind's  praying  ; 
Listen  thro'  the  dreary  dark 

To  what  his  pleading  lips  are  saying  : 

"Oh,  the  Poor, 

The  Poor  and  Old, 
On  the  moor 

And  on  the  wold, — 

How  desolate  they  are  to-night  and  cold  ! 
—  I  have  been 
To  the  cottage  in  the  glen ; 
I  whirled  around  the  crazy  shed 
Where  the  children  were  all  a-bed, 
And  I  could  hear  them  moan  and  weep, 
For  they  could  not  sleep. 

4  We  cannot  sleep,'  said  they, 

*  Father  is  out  on  the  stormy  bay, 


A    VOICE       FOR      THE      POOE.  91 

And  the  night  is  dark  and  the  sea  is  deep ; 

Would  God  that  it  were  day!' 
What  more  the  little  children  said 

I  cannot  say, 

For  I  stopped  my  ears  and  whirled  away 
To  pray  in  thine  instead 

For  a  little  space, 

A  little  slackening  in  the  race, 
That  so  the  weeping  children  may 

Behold  again  the  father's  face, 
Returning  with  the  morning's  ray 
Back  from  the  stormy  bay." 


But  the  merciless  sleet  keeps  flying  on 

Here  and  there  and  everywhere, 

Challenging  the  weary  air 
To  another  race  now  this  is  won. 
Merciless  Storm,  we  pray  thee,  hark 

To  the  wild  Wind's  praying  ; 
Listen  thro'  the  dreary  dark 

To  what  his  pleading  lips  are  saying : 


92  UTTERANCE. 

"  Oh,  the  Poor, 

The  Poor  and  Old, 
On  the  moor  • 

And  on  the  wold, — 

How  desolate  they  are  to-night  and  cold ! 
—  I  met  a  Traveller  on  the  hill  — 
An  old  man,  faint  and  very  chill  — 
Hoary  with  age,  and  hoarier  still 
With  the  white,  blinding  snow 
That  over  his  hoary  locks  did  blow. 
Pity  the  Traveller  old  and  gray! 
May-be  he  has  pushed  all  day 

Thro'  the  driving  storm  and  sleet ; 
May-be  he  has  lost  his  way, 
And  his  shivering  feet, 
How  they  must  long  and  ache  to  greet 
The  glowing  fireside's  genial  heat ! 
Pity  the  Traveller  old  and  gray, 
Pity  the  faint  old  man,  I  pray." 

But  the  merciless  sleet  keeps  flying  on 
Here  and  there  and  everywhere, 


A     VOICE      FOR      THE      POOE.  93 

Challenging  the  weary  air 
To  another  race  now  this  is  won. 
Merciless  Storm,  we  pray  thee,  hark 

To  the  wild  Wind's  praying, 
Listen  thro'  the  dreary  dark 

To  what  his  pleading  lips  are  saying  : 

"Oh,  the  Poor, 

The  Poor  and  Old, 
On  the  moor 

And  on  the  wold, — 

How  desolate  they  are  to-night  and  cold  !^ 
—  I  peeped  into  the  broken  panes, 
Where  the  snow,  and  sleet,  and  rains 
Of  many  a  weary  year  have  stolen, 
Till  the  sashes  are  smeared,  and  soaked,  and  swollen. 
Little  children  with  tangled  hair, 
And  lips  awry  and  feet  half  bare, 

Huddled  around  the  smouldering  fire, 

Like  beasts  half  crouching  in  their  lair; 

n 
While  each,  the  while,  by  stealth  drew  nigher, 

Covetous  of  the  other's  share. 


94  TJTTEBANCE. 

Oh,  'twas  a  pitiful  sight  to  see  ! 
And  mothers  too  were  there, 

With  infants  shivering  on  their  knee, 
Or  closer  held  with  a  mother's  care, 
Or  laid  to  rest  with  a  hurried  prayer, 
A  moan,  half  hope  and  half  despair, 
A  muttered,  *  Pitiless  Storm,  forbear!" 

But  the  merciless  sleet  keeps  flying  on 
Here  and  there  and  everywhere, 
Challenging  the  weary  air 
To*  another  race  now  this  is  won. 
Yet  over  all,  thro'  sleet  and  rain, 
I  seem  to  hear  this  low  refrain, 
This  sobbing,  desolate,  direful  strain: 

"Oh,  the  Poor, 

The  Poor  and  Old, 
On  the  moor 

And  on  the  wold, — 

How  desolate  they  are  to-night  and  cold!' 
And  I  sit  and  muse  at  my  window  still, 


A    YOICE      EOE      THE      POOR.  95 

And  strain  my  eyes  to  the  distant  hill 
In  search  of  the  Traveller  old  and  chill ; 
For  I  long  to  brush  from  his  shivering  form 
The  angry  curse  of  the  hoary  Storm, 
And  take  him  in  from  the  snow  and  sleet, 
And  wrap  his  aching  feet 
In  soft,  old  moccasins,  snug  and  warm. 
And  fain  too  would  I  go 
Thro'  the  drifted  banks  of  snow, 

To  the  crazy  shed  in  the  dismal  glen, 
Where  the  children  are  moaning  so, 
And  whisper  words  of  hope  and  cheer, 
How  that  the  Storm,  tho'  bleak  and  drear, 
Perchance  by  morning  light  will  clear, 

Bringing  the  father  home  again. 
And  in  the  alleys  and  wet  lanes 

Where  freezing  children  huddle  together, 
'Twere  almost  worth  my  pains 

To  face  this  desperate  weather, 
If  but  the  wish  to  show  them  good 
Would  pile  on  the  blazing  wood 
And  give  them  shelter,  and  clothes,  and  food! 


96  U  T  TEHAKC  E  . 

But  here  I  sit  at  my  window  still, 
With  nothing  to  show  but  a  hearty  will 
And  earnest  longing  to  help  them  each, 
Tho'  far  beyond  my  reach ; 
While  still  the  Wind's  low,  sobbing  strain 
Keeps  smiting  my  ear  with  its  sad  refrain : 


"  Oh,  the  Poor, 

The  Poor  and  Old, 
On  the  moor, 

And  on  the  wold,  — 

How  desolate  they  are  to-night  and  cold ! " 
And  I  think  how  sadly  to  us  all 
Wails  up  this  universal  call 
From  God's  great  earth  in  heat  or  cold, 

In  bright  or  blustering  weather, — 
For  each  his  brother's  hand  should  hold, 
And  all  should  hope  and  strive  together 
As  equal  sons  of  one  great  Father. 
God  knows  there  is  enough  of  care 
For  each  to  have  his  share  !  — 


A    VOICE      FOR      THE      POOE.  97 

Enough,  alas,  of  crime  and  sin, 

Not  loved  perchance  nor  gloried  in, 

But  born  of  Poverty  and  Woes 

The  rich  man  never  knows,  — 

Enough  to  make  us  all  forbear, — 

Enough  to  urge  our  warmest  powers 

In  gladdening  this  poor  world  of  ours,  — 

In  sowing  it  with  golden  seeds 

Of  generous  Resolves  and  Deeds,  — 

In  scattering  sunshine  all  around, 

Alike  on  rich  and  fallow  ground. 

So  would  this  earth  be  nearer  God,  — 

Till,  throwing  its  warm  life  abroad, 

'Twould  blossom  to  the  very  skies, 

A  Harvest  of  glad  Prophecies  ! 

The  Aloe  of  the  patient  Centuries  ! 


MORNING  !  —  'tis  the  glorious  morning  ! 

Fling  the  curtain  folds  aside, 
Toss  a-back  the  heavy  shutter, 

Ope  the  casement  wide. 

7 


98  UTTERANCE. 

Ha  !  the  air  is  keen  and  icy, 

Scattering  gems  with  every  breeze, 

Where  the  strong,  rejoicing  sunlight 
Gilds  the  frosted  trees. 

Scores  of  active  human  beings 
Press  the  busy  streets  along, 

While  I  linger  by  my  casement, 
Ere  I  join  the  throng. 

All  are  rising  —  all  are  stirring  — 
Each  with  firm  or  loitering  tread; 

^11  —  except  the  sick  and  helpless, 
And  the  silent  dead ! 

Here,  a  crowd  of  tradesmen,  hastening 
To  the  busy  mart  or  stand ; 

There,  a  swarm  of  idlers  lounging, 
Curses  in  the  land. 

Yonder  goes  a  group  of  maidens  — 
Merry,  laughing  girls  —  with  eyes, 


A     VOICE      FOR      THE      POOR.  99 

Some  as  black  as  midnight,  others 
Bluer  than  the  skies. 

Close  behind  them  skulks  a  being  — 
Squalid,  meager,  hunger-pinched  — 

'Neath  whose  woes  the  sternest,  stoutest 
Spirit  would  have  flinched  : 

Woes  of  poverty  and  hardship  — 

Woes  of  hunger,  pain,  and  cold  — 
Woes  whose  only  cure  is  silver  — 

Only  healer,  gold. 

Night  brings  sweet,  forgetful  slumber  : 

Hunger  wakens  with  the  Morn; 
Oh !  a  deal  of  heart-sick  trouble 

With  the  Day  is  born ! 

Ay,  the  weary  Poor  —  "  God  help  them  "  — 

What  to  them  is  Morning's  bloom, 
When  it  only  shows  them  faces 

Sharpening  for  the  tomb  ?  — 


100  TJTTEHANCE. 

Human  faces,  loved  and  cherished  — 
Beings,  partners  of  their  "blood  — 

Wife  and  children  —  sickening,  pining, 
All  for  want  of  food  ! 

How  their  very  bones  are  starting 
Where  the  flesh  has  shrunk  away  ! 

How  their  hungry  eyes  are  growing 
Wilder  every  day. 

How  they  gather  round  the  embers 
Kindled  to  the  last,  faint  glow, 

While  the  hope  within  grows  dimmer 
As  the  flame  gets  low  ! 

"  Ah,"  they  cry,  "  an'  it  were  summer, 
Pain  and  want  we  might  endure  ; 

But  in  winter  time  'tis  wretched, 
Wretched  to  be  poor  !  " 

Oh  !  how  strange  a  thing,  and  dreadful, 
That,  upon  this  great,  wide  earth, 


A     VOICE      FOU      THE      POOR.  101 

Stored  with  plenty,  some  should  suffer 
Such  a  constant  dearth  ! 

God  in  heaven  has  not  ordained  it : 

Man  on  earth  has  willed  it  so, 
Eager  for  the  wealth  whose  purchase 

Is  a  brother's  woe. 

Oh !  ye  Rich,  who  grind  the  faces 

Of  the  Weary,  Poor,  and  Old, 
Coining  human  flesh  and  sinews, 

In  your  thirst  for  gold  — 

Who  has  given  you  right  to  squander 
Strength  and  vigor  not  your  own  r 

Whence  your  claim  to  thrive  and  fatten 
On  a  poor  man's  groan  ? 

Labor  is  the  poor  man's  "  birthright  ;  " 

But  for  aye  must  it  be  sold 
For  a  paltry  "  mess  of  pottage," 

When  its  worth  is  gold  ? 


102  UTTERANCE. 

Out  upon  your  sordid  meanness  ! 

Out  upon  your  coward  birth  ! 
Sure,  than  ye,  more  craven  beings 

Never  walked  God's  earth ! 

But  the  mists  of  Morn  have  vanished 
'Neath  the  garish  light  of  Day, 

And  the  busy  crowd  has  melted 
With  the  frost  away  ; 

Still  I  linger  by  my  casement, 
Drinking  in  the  stirring  breeze  ; 

Oh  !  that  all,  like  me,  were  happy  !  — 
All,  like  me,  at  ease  ! 

Sighing  thus  I  shut  my  casement, 
Turn  me  to  my  open  door  — 

Sadder,  yet  a  wiser,  better 
Being  than  before. 


A    VOICE      FOR     THE      POOR.  103 


BLOW  the  fire  cheerily, 
Bid  the  flames  merrily 

Crackle  and  glow; 
Hear  how  the  winds  without, 
Keep  up  their  dismal  shout, 
Blowing  the  sleet  about, 

Tossing  the  snow. 

Here  it  is  cheery  warm, 

Why  should  we  heed  the  storm? 

We  have  a  fire. 
See  the  flames  glancing, 
Sparkling  and  prancing, 
Merrily  dancing 

Higher  and  higher! 

Still,  it  is  bitter  cold! 
God  help  the  Poor  and  Old 
On  this  drear  night; 


104  T7TTEIIANCE. 

Freezing  and  sighing, 
Chilled  and  half  crying, 
Stiff'ning  and  dying;  — 
What  a  sad  sight! 

See  how  they  gather 
Closer  together, 
Bemoaning  the  weather, 

Quiv'ring  with  pain. 
How  their  teeth  chatter 
With  a  dull  clatter, 
Just  like  the  patter 

Of  merciless  rain. 

Ah  me  !  how  very  numb 
Finger  and  stiffened  thumb! 
Yet  the  blue  lips  are  dumb, 

Utt'ring  no  groan  ; 
Limbs  growing  rigid, 
Breath  all  too  frigid 

Even  to  moan ! 


A     VOICE      FOR      THE      POOR.  105 

What  a  soul-sick'ning  sight, 
On  this  relentless  night, 

Savage  with  storm  ! 
Father  and  mother, 
Sister  and  brother, 
Hugging  each  other, 

All  to  get  warm  ! 

Ah,  that  it  should  be  so, 
God  of  the  cold  and  snow  ! 
Would  He  might  help  their  woe  ; 

He  only  can. 
Dying  by  inches,  — 
How  the  cold  pinches  ! 
Every  nerve  flinches 

In  the  stern  man. 

Horrid  !  —  but  must  they  die  ! 
Is  there  no  other  nigh, 
None  but  the  God  on  high, 
Help  to  bestow  r 


106  TJ  T  IE  RANG  E. 

—  Does  He  not  tell  us 
WE  should  be  zealous, 
Yea,  even  anxious, 
Pity  to  show  ? 

Shall  we  sit  idly  by, 
Seeing  them  freeze  and  die  ; 
Yet  for  our  apathy 

Feeling  unchid  ? 
Frozen  eyes  staring, 
Wild  and  despairing, 
Horribly  glaring 

From  the  stiff  lid  ! 

No  !  —  'twere  insanity, 
Wild  inhumanity, 
Startling  inanity, 

Conduct  like  this  ! 
Unworthy  our  stations, 
Our  mutual  relations, 
Deserving  whole  nations' 

Perpetual  hiss  ! 


A     T  DICE      FOB      THE      POOH.  107 

Let  us  act  nobly  then ; 
Let  us  be  Christian  men, 
Striving  with  voice  and  pen, 

Warmth  to  secure, 
To  those  who  ever 
Will  bless  our  endeavor 

Holy  and  pure, 
Pleading  together, 
"  O/t,  in  cold  weather, 

Remember  the  Poor  !  " 


VOICES   OF   GRIEF 


VOICES   OF   GRIEF. 


THE    MOTHERLESS. 

THE  day  is  done  !    How  silently  the  clouds 
Melt  in  the  thin  blue  air,  nor  leave  a  trace 
Of  their  white  garments  on  the  azure  skies 
To  dim  their  glorious  brightness.     On  the  hills 
Gather  the  mists  of  evening,  and  the  stars, 
Obedient  to  the  summons,  hasten  out 
To  keep  their  watchful  vigils  o'er  the  earth 
Till  morn  shall  come  again. 

'Tis  a  rare  night ! 

The  earth  is  full  of  music,  and  the  air 
Seems  like  soft  breathings  from  a  calmer  world, 
It  floats  so  peacefully  —  and  over  all, 
On  sloping  hill-side,  and  in  every  dell, 


112  U  T  IE  RANG  E. 

Lies  the  fair,  liquid  moonlight  with  a  spell 

Of  dream-like  witchery  and  glorious  strength ! 

And  yet  I  love  it  not  —  this  peerless  night  — 

It  has  a  tinge  of  sadness  and  it  speaks 

With  mournful  meaning  to  my  shrinking  heart ; 

And  when  all  else  are  joyous,  and  the  young 

Are  weaving  hours  of  pleasure  'neath  the  light 

Of  the  soft  moon,  and  reading  tales  of  love 

And  kindly  sympathy  in  each  dear  face 

By  her  sweet  beams,  I  turn  aside  and  weep  ! 

For  there  are  none  to  love  me  with  such  strength 

Of  human  tenderness  —  there's  none  to  lay 

Her  hand  upon  my  drooping  head,  and  breathe 

A  mother's  holy  blessing  —  none  to  note 

My  sadder  moments  —  none  when  I  would  weep, 

To  soothe  with  gentle  words  the  weary  heart 

That  beats  too  often  'neath  a  gayer  mood  ! 

I  do  remember  well  one  summer  night  — 
Just  such  a  night  as  this  —  I  had  been  out 
To  taste  the  balmy  air,  and  fan  my  cheek, 
Made  pale  with  weary  watchings  by  the  couch 
Where  lay  my  blessed  Mother,  day  by  day 


TOICES      OF      G  11  IE  F  .  113 

Wasting  with  painful  sickness.     I  had  watched 
The  long,  long  day  beside  her,  and  when  eve 
With  its  sweet  calm  drew  on,  they  hade  me  go 
And  breathe  the  pleasant  air. 

And  so  I  went, 

Lonely  and  sad,  to  wander  out  beneath 
The  star-lit  heavens.     It  was  as  fair  a  night, 
As  gloriously  beautiful,  as  this  ; 
The  very  air  seemed  burdened  with  its  weight 
Of  light  and  loveliness,  and  every  flower 
Sent  up  its  tribute  of  delicious  sweets 
From  half-closed  petals  —  but  the  glowing  air, 
And  the  soft  verdure,  and  the  scented  flowers, 
Were  wearisome  to  my  spirit,  and  awoke 
No  chord  of  harmony,  no  passionate  thrill, 
For  there  were  sterner  voices  wrhispering  there 
Of  death  and  loved  ones  —  so  I  turned  once  more 
To  my  sad  home,  to  watch  and  weep  again 
Beside  my  Mother's  bed. 

—  They  met  me  there, 

Beneath  those  tall  old  trees  —  and  with  the  sky 
Glowing  with  splendor,  and  the  earth  below 
8 


114  UTTERANCE. 

Smiling  with  ten-fold  joy,  as  if  to  mock 
My  weight  of  grief,  —  they  told  me  she  was  dead  ! 
My  Mother !  —  in  whose  life  and  love  my  life 
Was  treasured  up  !     My  Mother  —  whom  I  loved 
With  such  wild  strength  !     I  did  not,  could  not  weep ; 
I  murmured,  "  Let  me  die,"  and  with  a  strange, 
Deep,  resolute  purpose,  that  they  recked  not  of, 
Close  in  my  heart,  I  sought  my  Mother's  room. 
How  beautiful  she  looked  !     There  lay  a  smile 
On  her  closed  lips  so  like  the  one  she  wore 
Ere  sickness  stole  it  from  her,  that  I  sprang 
Quick  to  her  bedside,  with  a  restless  hope 
That  they  had  but  deceived  me  with  their  tale 
Of  death  and  misery.     I  knelt  and  wept, 
And  prest  my  lips  to  hers.     How  icy  cold  ! 
Oh  God,  forgive  me  for  the  mocking  prayer 
That  rose  from  my  wild  heart  —  a  prayer  to  die  ! 
To  die  with  her,  tho'  I  was  young  and  strong  ! 
To  share  with  her  her  narrow  home,  and  sleep, 
Ay,  sleep  for  ever,  so  that  dawn  might  bring 
No  sad  to-morrow  to  my  waking  eyes, 
To  write  me  motherless  ! 


VOICES      OF      GRIEF.  115 

Long,  troubled  years 

Have  passed  since  then,  but  ever  when  the  night 
Comes  on  with  such  rare  beauty,  and  the  moon 
Walks  with  such  glorious  brightness  thro'  the  sky, 
I  think  of  that  fair,  silent,  mournful  eve, 
When  the  sweet  moonlight  of  my  life  went  out 
And  left  my  sky  without  one  ray  of  love 
To  cheer  its  gloomy  darkness,  —  and  my  tears, 
When  all  are  gay  around  me,  tell  how  lone 
Is  the  sad  portion  of  the  motherless ! 


116  TJTTEBAKCE 


"THE    FORCED    BRIDAL. 

A  PICTURE. 

AY,  deck  her  in  her  bridal  robes, — 
The  maiden  young  and  fair ; 

And  twine  a  wreath  of  orange  buds 
And  roses  for  her  hair ; 

Or  bind  amid  its  sable  gloom 

The  jasmine's  white  and  starry  bloom. 


And  bid  her  wreath  her  trembling  lip 
With  Pleasure's  gayest  smile, 

Tell  her  its  brightness  will  allure 
Her  heart  to  joy  the  while, — 

Will  make  those  brooding  tear-drops  flee 

That  fringe  her  lids  so  heavily. 


VOICES      OF      GRIEF.  117 

Tell  her  a  bride  should  ever  wear 

A  glad,  unshadowed  glance  ; 
Should  be  the  gayest  in  the  song, 

The  fleetest  in  the  dance ; 
Nor  ever  one  low  sigh  be  born, 
To  dim  the  sweet,  fair  marriage  morn ! 

—  Alas,  there's  too  much  mockery!  — 

Take  off  the  shining  wreath  !  — 
Ye  know  not  how  much  anguish  lurks 

Those  scented  buds  beneath ;  — 
Ye  know  not  what  a  weight  of  woe 
is  hid  that  bridal  vest  below. 


Ay,  pity  her,  —  so  beautiful ! 

Sad  —  yet  so  young  in  years,  — 
Laying  her  spirit  on  a  shrine 

Dim  with  that  spirit's  tears  ;  — 
Giving  Life's  sweetest  chalice  up, 
To  drink  instead  that  bitter  cup  ! 


118  TJ  TTEKANC  E. 

Oh,  what  a  very  mockery 
To  deck  her  as  ye  must  — 

Better  to  robe  her  in  her  shroud, 
And  lay  her  in  the  dust ! 

For  so  at  least  her  soul  would  be 

From  its  detested  bondage  free  ! 


VOICES      OP      GKIET.  119 


THE    MANIAC'S    DEATH-SONG. 

[In  one  of  the  rooms  was  the  lifeless  body  of  a  young  man,  about 
twenty-three  years  of  age.  He  had  died  that  morning.  The  keeper 
told  us  that  during  the  last  few  months  he  had  been  subject  to 
occasional  fits  of  melancholy,  terminating  often,  however,  in  raving 
and  delirium.  He  would  mutter  to  himself — at  first  in  a  calm  tone — 
"Oh,  the  Future!  the  Future!"  but  would  at  length  become  so 
wild  that  it  was  sometimes  necessary  to  chain  him.  It  was  supposed 
that  he  had  experienced  one  of  these  attacks  that  morning,  and  had 
died  from  very  terror  and  exhaustion.] 

"  THERE'S  a  cloud  on  my  spirit,  a  cloud  of  regret, 
For  the  light  of  my  being  all  dimly  has  sot ; 
Like  sunbeams  that  die  when  the  dark  night  comes  on, 
The  day  from  my  spirit  has  faded  and  gone. 

"  How  sad  and  how  lonely,  how  fearfully  dim 

Lies  the  Future  before  me  !  —  Yet,  ghastly  and  grim, 

One  beckons  me  on  with  his  skeleton  hand, 

To  tread  the  dark  haunts  of  that  shadowy  land  ! 


120  UTTERANCE. 

"Ah  me,  must  I  venture? — a  voice  slumbers  there 
Whose  waking  would  wither  my  soul  to  despair  ! 
And  yet  I  must  hear  it,  —  its  tones  are  for  me, 
Despairing  and  hollow  and  wild  tho'  they  be. 

"  The  Past  has  a  shadow  that  follows  me  aye,  — 

The  Present  is  sad  as  the  dying  of  day,  — 

But  oh,  the  dim  Future,  the  years  yet  untried, 

All  haunted  with  ghosts  of  the  hopes  that  have  died  !  — 

"  How  wildly  they  call  on  my  spirit  to  come 
And  meet  them  again  in  their  dark  charnel  home  ! 
How  mockingly  echoes  their  laugh  on  the  air, 
Like  fiends  making  mirth  o'er  my  cup  of  despair  ! 

"  I  cannot  escape  them,  for,  spite  of  my  will, 
They  haunt  me,  they  taunt  me,  they  jeer  at  me  still; 
At  morn  and  at  midnight,  in  ranks  and  alone, 
They  hover  before  me  and  beckon  me  on. 

"  Be  still,  ye  dark  phantoms  that  madden  my  brain  !  — 
Be  still !  —  my  wild  spirit  is  quiv'ring  with  pain ; 


VOICES      OF      GRIEF.  121 

Above  and  around  me,  within  and  without, 
Is  chaos  and  darkness,  wild  discord  and  doubt. 

"  Away,  thou  great  Future  !  —  I  fear  thee  !     Thine  eye 
Is  dark  with  the  shadows  that  over  thee  lie  ; 
Away,  for  my  spirit  grows  weak  as  a  child, 
Afraid  of  thy  glances  so  fearful  and  wild. 

—  *' In  vain  —  with  a  footstep  that  falls  on  my  ear 
Like  the  tramp  of  an  army,  his  coming  I  hear : 

Off,  off !  —  nay,  he  beckons  —  oh,  save  me,  nor  tear 
My  worn  soul  to  shreds  with  thy  rod  of  despair  ! 

"  In  vain  !  I  must  meet  him  !  my  soul  is  on  fire  — 
All  shrivelled  and  scorched  'neath  his  terrible  ire  ! 
Oh  horror!  I'm  fainting  —  I'm  dying!  —  give  o'er!" 

—  And  the  voice  of  that  wild  one  was  heard  never  more. 


122  UTTERANCE. 


MAY. 

THESE  sweet  spring  days !  — With  what  a  haunting  spell 

They  visit  me  again.     I  did  not  know 

That  touch  so  exquisite  had  power  to  call 

The  sick,  sick  Past  back  from  its  feverish  trance 

And  give  it  life  again.     This  warm  south  breeze 

I  deemed  had  other  mission  on  its  wings 

Than  the  dull  task  of  waking  grief  that  slept. 

It  does  not  seem  a  tyrant  as  it  sways 

So  daintily  those  bursting  blades  of  green, 

Or  rocks  with  such  a  loving  lullaby 

These  cradled  rose-buds  that  my  care  has  placed 

Beside  my  window  for  a  morning's  meal 

Of  air  and  sunshine  —  yet  its  every  breath, 

Soft,  warm,  and  low,  and  musical  as  it  is, 

Comes  freighted  with  deep  sadness,  wild  regrets, 

And  passionate  sighs,  and  longings  infinite, 

And  memories  mute  and  mournful.     Oh  ye  tones 


VOICES      OF     GRIEF.  123 

Of  the  warm  sunny  sky,  why  have  ye  come 

With  your  old  errands  to  my  heart  again  ?  — 

For  there  were  lighter  strings  within  my  soul 

Ye  might  have  played  on  —  most  melodious  chords 

Waiting  to  flow  with  the  rich  trill  of  birds, 

And  the  free  tinkle  of  the  unchained  streams, 

Add  the  light  shiver  of  the  swaying  leaves, 

And  every  sound  that  makes  the  spring-time  gay 

With  its  sweet  minstrelsy ;  —  and  I  did  hope 

To  join  the  universal  hymn,  and  pour 

From  my  freed  spirit,  notes  of  equal  praise. 

Oh  wherefore  then,  half  mingling,  half  apart, 

Wells  up  a  note  of  sadness  thro'  the  strain, 

A  sobbing,  desolate  dirge,  a  tearful  moan 

From  the  stirred,  troubled  fountain  of  my  soul  ? 

Why  should  the  spring-time  with  its  wondrous  show 

Of  bursting  loveliness  and  budding  bloom, 

Fall  with  a  haunting  shadow  on  my  heart? 

Has  it  no  leaf  of  healing,  no  dear  balm, 

No  heart's-ease  for  my  spirit,  'midst  its  wealth 

Of  buds  and  leaves  and  beautiful  blossoming  ? 

Must  it  be  so  for  ever  ?     Will  there  come 


124  UTTERANCE. 

Never  a  spring-time  when  my  heart  shall  bound 

With  its  old  gladness,  and  my  eyes  look  up 

To  the  warm  sky  in  rapture,  and  my  voice 

Mingle  with  bird  notes  and  the  songs  of  streams? 

Have  the  warm  breezes  no  medicinal  touch 

To  lay  on  my  sick  spirit,  nor  the  woods 

A  simple  for  my  healing  ?     In  all  earth 

Can  I  not  find  an  antidote,  a  balm  ? 

Oh,  wearisome  climate,  where  the  heart  grows  sick 

With  its  own  longings,  dies   of  its  own  dearth! 

Sure  I  was  made  for  better,  kindlier  fate, 

And  Immortality  shall  teach  what  Life, 

This  narrow,  grudging,  meager  thing  called  Life, 

Can  never  teach  me.     Heaven  has  better  hopes, 

Nay,  large  fruition.     There  no  shadow  broods 

O'er  the  eternal  spring-time  :  There  my  soul 

Shall  find  its  desperate  longings  satisfied, 

Nor  feel  itself  thrust  backward  from  its  goal 

Through  the  dull  waste  of  ages.     Therefore  rouse, 

Oh  thou  sick  heart  of  mine,  and  in  thy  hopes 

Of  the  dear  heaven,  forget  the  hopes  of  earth ! 

Cling  to  thy  birthright!  — trust  thine  own  great  strength! 


VOICES    or    GRIEF.  125 

Nay,  lean  upon  thy  God's  —  and  thou  shalt  find 
Health  and  repose  again ;  ay,  thou  shalt  find 
Each  moment  beautiful  with  Faith  and  Hope, 
Each  season  glorious,  and  all  things  good  ! 


126  UTTERANCE. 


A    BALLAD. 

THEY  bid  me  sing  the  plaintive  lay 

I  sung  in  days  of  yore, 
And  wonder  that  I  never  now 

Trill  the  sweet  cadence  o'er  ; 
They  know  not  that  the  simple  thing 
Was  one  my  mother  used  to  sing. 

They  look  with  cold  and  wondering  gaze 

Into  my  tearful  eyes, 
And  ask,  whene'er  they  name  the  strain, 

Why  grief  like  mine  should  rise  — 
I  cannot  school  my  lips  to  say, 
"  My  mother  taught  me  that  sweet  lay." 

And  when  they  urge  me  to  the  task, 

And  plead  full  oft  and  long 
To  hear  again  the  plaintive  notes 


VOICES      OF      GRIEF.  127 

Of  that  remembered  song, 
Still  does  my  voice  refuse  to  swell 
The  strain  my  mother  loved  so  well. 

How  oft  when  weaned  with  my  play 

I've  nestled  on  her  breast, 
To  list  that  sweet  familiar  song 

Before  I  sank  to  rest ; 
And  then  I'd  hold  my  breath  to  hear, 
As  though  an  angel  hovered  near 

• 

One  evening  —  I  remember  well  — 

In  joyous  summer  tide, 
With  aching  feet  and  throbbing  brow 

I  sought  my  mother's  side, 
And  begged  once  more  to  list  the  lay 
I  had  not  heard  since  yesterday. 

Her  cheek  was  paler  than  its  wont, 

And  every  breath  was  pain ; 
Yet  still  to  please  her  wayward  child, 

She  sang  it  o'er  again. 


128  TJTTEBANCE. 

—  How  could  I  know  that  Death  was  nigh, 
Stealing  each  accent  silently  ? 

With  hasty  thanks  I  left  her  side 

As  died  the  last  sad  sound, 
Nor  noted  in  my  childishness 

The  death-like  stillness  round, 
But  with  a  glad  and  happy  tread 
Tripped  lightly  to  my  little  bed. 

And  when  the  morning  light  broke  forth 

I  sought  my  mother's  room, 
But  sad,  strange  figures  held  me  back 

And  shook  their  heads  in  gloom  ; 
They  told  me  th.it  my  mother  slept,  . 
And  chid  me  when  I  vainly  wept. 

And  through  the  long  and  weary  day 
They  kept  me  from  her  bed  ; 

But  when  the  sorrowing  eve  came  on, 
They  told  me  she  was  dead  — 


VOICES      OF      GKIEF.  129 

And  led  me,  sobbing,  to  behold 
My  mother's  face  all  pale  and  cold. 

I  looked  upon  her  bloodless  lips, 

And  gazed  in  anguish  long,  — 
I  thought  how  lately  they  had  breathed 

This  same  sweet,  pensive  song ; 
And  wept  to  think  I  ne'er  again 
Should  hear  her  wake  that  pleasant  strain. 

Then  ask  me  not  to  sing  it  now, 

Nor  bid  me  lightly  wake 
Those  chords  to  which  my  weary  heart 

Such  sad  response  will  make.  — 
Go  —  take  the  lute  —  I  cannot  play 
One  note  of  that  remembered  lay  ! 
9 


130  UTTERANCE. 


LENA. 

Lucius.     "What  have  you  here,  Horatio,  a  Translation? 
Horatio.  "Ay,  master,  from  the  Heart  —  a  mystic  tongue, 

Quite  out  of  use  in  these  degenerate  days, 

Deadest  of  all  dead  languages. 
Lucius.  "  Tut,  Boy  ! 

You  shouldn't  meddle  with  such  obsolete  lore." 
OLD  TIMES  AND  NEW. 

TESTER-NIGHT  I  saw  a  vision,  wondrous  bright  and 
over-fair, 

Pictured  on  the  wail  and  haunting  all  the  intermedi 
ate  air. 

Happy  faces  of  my  boyhood,  looks    that  on  my  youth 

did  shine, 
Seemed  with  eyes  of  loving  beauty  gazing   once   more 

into  mine. 


VOICES      OF      GBIEF.  131 

Eyes  whose  light  had  cheered  the  morning  of  my  life, 

but  as  the  day 
Of    my     clouded     being     deepened,     melted     silently 

away. 

So  the  stars  melt  out  from  heaven  when  earth's  weary 

day  draws  on, 
And   the  sky  looks  sad   and   desolate   that  its  shining 

ones  are  gone. 

One    there   was  —  a   sweet   wee   maiden  —  lovely  as  a 

lonely  star  — 
I  can  see  her  now,  now  worship  as  I  worshipped  once 

—  afar. 

Never   could  I  come  a-nigh  her  —  oh,  she  seemed  too 

bright  a  thing 
To    be    touched    save    by    an    angel's    wondrous,    ever 

radiant  wing. 

Yet  last   night  she  stood   beside  me,  laid  in  mine  her 
own  white  hand, 


132  T7T  TE  RANGE. 

While  my  spirit  thrilled  with  rapture  that  I  scarce 
could  understand. 

Long   I    stood   and   gazed    upon   her   with   my   whole 

heart  in  my  look, 
Heading    her    love-written    features   like    some    sweet, 

love-written  book ;  — 

Gazing  'neath  her  downcast  lashes  on  the  azure  of  her 

eyes 
Beaming  out  like  warm,  glad  sunshine  struggling  thro' 

beclouded  skies. 

All  the  wall  of  separation  seemed  at  once  to  be  with 
drawn, 

All  Society's  prim  barriers  with  one  stroke  for  ever 
gone. 

What  tho'  she  had   higher    birthright  —  what  tho'  her 

young  blood  coursed  down 
Thro'  a  line   of  noble   houses  whose   proud  head  had 

worn  a  crown? 


VOICES     OF      GEIEF.  133 

In  that   sweet   night-vision  vanished  all  distinctions  of 

the  earth, 
And   we    stood   like   common   beings,  owning   each   a 

common  birth. 

Oh,    had    Life    been    less    relentless  —  had  we  met   in 

very  deed, 
Of  this    after-part  of  anguish  there  had  been  no  cruel 

need. 

But  with  keen  perception  guessing  how  her  heart  and 

mine  were  wove 
By  this  sad  yet  silent   process  into  one  warm  web    of 

love,  — 

(For,  as  yet    our   lips    had    spoken    not    one    word    of 

plighted  truth,  — 
She    was    but    a    wee-bit    maiden,  —  I    was    scarcely 

deemed  a  youth ; 

Yet  our  souls    by    some    strange    forecast,  some  weird 
mystery  of  Fate, 


134  UTTERANCE. 

Clung  together  by  a  tenure  that  no  force  could  sepa 
rate  ;) 

This,    with    keen    perception     guessing,    friends,    with 

roused  and  angry  pride, 
Placed  around   her    iron   barriers  that    no    tears  could 

force  aside. 

Scorn  and  rage  and  harsh  dictation  reigned  where  love 
before  had  smiled, 

Till  o'er-sad  and  sick  of  weeping  grew  the  fair,  heart 
broken  child. 

Then   there   came  a  change    upon  her :    in   one   brief, 

eventful  hour, 
From   the   child   emerged   the   woman,    from   the   bud 

the  sudden  flower, — 

Perfect   in   its    strength   and    beauty,  tho'  rude    hands 

had  forced  apart 
With  a  harsh,   unhallowed   license,   each  warm  leaflet 

of  her  heart. 


VOICES     OF      GRIEF.  135 

Stern  resolve  within    her    ripened  —  stern    resolve    to 

brave  and  share 
Suffering,   Wrong,   unjust  Infliction  —  all  that  mortal 

heart  could  bear. 

Thus  her  soul   grew  old   within   her,  till  —  as  mildew 

blights  the  grace 
Of  the  premature,  forced  blossom  —  fairness  faded  from 

her  face.  , 

On  her  lips   the  red  rose  wasted,  from  her   eye   the 

violet  fled, 
Till,  at  length,  in  withered   girlhood,  cold    she    lay  — 

ice-cold  and  dead ! 

Oh,    what    cruel    hands    did   pilfer   from   her   Life   its 

morning  bloom  ! 
Oh,  what  monster  means  did  lay  her  in  her  damp  and 

early  tomb  !  — 

When  she  might  have    blossomed   brightly  —  beautiful 
and  fair  as  day, 


136  17  T  TERANCE. 

Had    her   warm   and   loving    nature    been   allowed  its 
rightful  play  ! 

Yet   on   me  they    brand   the   stigma    of  reproach,  and 

wrong,  and  shame, 
Saying  "  Had'st  thou  never  seen  her,  not  on  thee  had 

been  the  blame." 

One  bleak  morning — '  one  .cold  morning  —  dreary-bleak 

and  bitter  cold, 
Came    a    rider,    pale    and    ghastly,    striding    o'er    the 

dismal  wold. 

I  could  fashion  through  the  twilight  of  that    dim   and 

misty  morn, 
Features    of   her     sire,     rage-knotted,     working     with 

convulsive  scorn. 

Erst  he  reached   our   humble    cottage  —  (I  was    but  a 

peasant's  son)  — 
He  had  cursed   me    for    the    mischief  that  my  upstart 

love  had  done ; 


VOICES      OF      GRIEF.  137 

Cast  on  me  a  look  of  vengeance,  flung    to    me  a  lock 

of  gold, 
Severed,  as  he  said,  from  temples  but  for  me  had  ne'er 

been  cold. 

Severed   in   her   latest    moments    with   her    own    thin, 

trembling  hand, 
"  This   for  7wm,"  she    breathed,  —  "  ye  dare  not  spurn 

the  dying's  last  command." 

Dumb,  in  that  sad,  joyful  moment,  fell  those  curses  on 

my  head, 
(Joyful,  that   she  loved  me,  dying  —  sad,  that   loving, 

she  was  dead !) 

Oh  lost  Lena,  lovely  Lena,  fair,  and  pure,  and  gentle- 
eyed, 

I  would  give  my  heart's  last  life-blood  an  for  me  thou 
had'st  not  died  ! 

Yet,  sweet  thoughts,  like  shrouded  moonlight,  pace  my 
spirit's  cloudy  gloom, 


138  TJTTEBANCE. 

While    I    sit    and    ponder    sadly    on   thy    chilled    and 
blighted  bloom. 

Visions  of  thy  strange    devotion    thrill  me  like  a  very 


Till    my    heart    beats    nigh    to    bursting  with   a   wild, 
tumultuous  joy. 

Then  thy  face  gleams  up  before  me,  with  its  brow  so 

ashy-white, 
And,  before    I    know,  I'm    weeping  o'er  this   tress    of 

golden  light. 

So  my  heart    keeps    swaying    ever  'twixt  th'  extremes 

of  joy  and  woe, 
Fearing  to  alight    on    either,  yet  untaught  where    else 

to  go. 

Oh,  my  lost,  lost,  stricken  Lena,  fair,  and    sweet,  and 

azure-  eyed, 
Would  to  God  thou  had'st  not  left  me,  or  would  God 

I  too  had  died  ! 


VOICES     OF     GRIEF.  139 


THE    OCEAN    BELL.* 

TOLLING,  tolling  —  o'er  the  ocean 
Comes  a  sad  and  mournful  knell, 

Where  the  waves  with  restless  motion 
Rock  that  solemn  bell. 

Tolling  ever,  ceasing  never 

From  the  same  eternal  round, 
Both  in  bright  and  stormy  weather 

Comes  that  low,  clear  sound. 

Tho'  the  skies  above  be  cloudless, 
Tho'  the  waves  be  bright  below, 

*  The  bell  of  the  steamer  Atlantic,  lost  in  the  December  gale, 
of  1846.  "That  part  of  the  wreck  to  which  it  was  attached, 
happened  to  lodge  in  such  a  position,  that  the  bell  was  supported 
out  of  the  water,  and  at  the  motion  of  every  wave  struck  twice, 
and  so,  night  and  day,  tolled  on  its  doleful  note." 


140  TTTTEKANCE. 

Still,  with  note  unmuflled,  shroudless, 
Comes  that  sound  of  woe, — 

Tolling  o'er  the  loved  and  parted, — 
Tolling  o'er  the  brave  and  good, — 

Tolling  o'er  the  broken-hearted, 
Sadly  as  it  should. 

Oh,  how  many  forms  were  buried 
Underneath  this  billowy  strife ! 

Strong,  stern  men,  with  earth  unwearied, 
Struggling  still  for  life. 

Wrestling  with  the  gaping  billows 
Till  the  hope  of  life  was  o'er  — 

Sinking  on  their  watery  pillows  — 
Glad  to  toil  no  more. 

Youth,  and  Age,  and  Manhood's  vigor, 
Shrouded  in  one  common  pall, 

While  the  winds  with,  ceaseless  rigor 
Howl  alike  o'er  all. 


VOICES      OF      GHIEF.  141 

Well  —  they  sleep  beneath  the  billow, 
Sire  and  child,  and  man  of  God,*' 

Peacefully  as  tho'  a  willow 
Waved  above  their  sod. 

Yet  'twas  hard  to  see  so  many 

Strong,  brave  men  go  down  to  death ! 

Passing  pitiful  that  any 

Thus  should  yield  their  breath  ! 

Meet  it  is  that  that  sad  tolling, 

Moan  should  keep  above  their  rest  — 

Mournful  dirges  ever  rolling 
O'er  each  storm-swept  breast. 

Sleep  ye  on  —  ye  loved  and  parted  — 

Sleep  ye  on  —  ye  cannot  know 
How  above  your  rest  hath  started 

This  low  wail  of  woe. 


*  Rev.  Dr.  Armstrong. 


142  UTTERANCE. 

—  Yet  a  sound  at  length  shall  call  them 
From  the  slumbers  that  they  keep ; 

Ay,  a  heavier  note  appal  them, 
In  their  dreamless  sleep ! 

Well  for  them,  when  that  loud  warning, 
Sounding  over  sea  and  earth, 

Calls  the  resurrection  morning 
Into  sudden  birth  ;  — 

Well  for  them,  if  each  glad  spirit 

Springs  in  glorious  liberty, 
Life  for  ever  to  inherit 

Where  there's  "no  more  sea." 


VOICES      OF      GKIEF.  143 


THE    CHANGED    MEETING. 

WE  met  —  how  different  was  the  greeting 

From  those  exchanged  long  years  ago, 
When  every  moment  seemed  too  fleeting, 

And  aye  too  near  the  hour  to  go  ! 
How  icy  was  the  hand  you  offered, 

And  mine  as  coldly  met  your  own  — 
How  calm  the  welcome  that  you  proffered  — 

I  answered  in  the  same  calm  tone. 

And  yet  my  very  heart  was  burning 

With  thoughts  I  could  not  breathe  to  thee ; 
And  my  whole  soul  was  fondly  yearning 

To  be  what  once  we  used  to  be. 
I  saw  thee  turn  away  to  cover 

Thy  brimming  eyes  —  it  made  me  glad 
To  know  sad  thoughts  thou  could' st  not  smother, 

—  Strange  I  should  smile  to  see  thee  sad ! 


144  UTTERANCE. 

Thee  !  —  whom  I  loved  with  such  devotion ; 

Whose  every  grief  I  used  to  share  ;  — 
Weeping  with  love's  own  deep  emotion 

If  but  thy  brow  was  touched  with  care  ; 
Thee  !  whose  fond  smile  like  life  I  cherished ; 

Why  should  I  joy  to  see  thy  woe  ? 
—  And  yet  my  passion  had  not  perished, 

My  love  to  thee  grown  cold,  —  oh  no  ! 

I  thought  of  all  the  hours  long  vanished 

When  we  were  happy,  loving,  gay ; 
I  started  back  in  tears  —  astonished 

To  find  it  all  so  changed  to-day  ! 
And  when  I  saw  thou  too  wast  calling 

The  loving  Past  all  back  to  thee, 
While  from  thine  eyes  fast  tears  were  falling, 

How  could  I  else  than  happy  be  ? 

And  yet,  farewell,  'twere  vain  to  linger 
On  thoughts  that  are  but  useless  now,  — 

For  guilt  and  shame  with  busy  finger 
Have  stampt  their  language  on  thy  brow. 


VOICES      OF      GRIEF.  145 

Oh,  had'st  thou  been  what  I  had  made  thee, 
Had'st  thou  but  bowed  to  Love's  own  tone, 

I  had  not  now  in  anguish  prayed  thee 
To  leave  me  in  my  tears,  alone  ! 
10 


146  TTTTEKANCE. 


LIFE. 

"Perfect  through  suffering." 

PAUL. 

MUST  I  suffer  ere  my  spirit 

Shall  attain  its  highest  goal  ? 
Opens  there  no  smoother  pathway 

To  the  upward-struggling  soul  ? 
No  —  like  seed  that  through  thick  darkness 

Gropes  its  way  above  the  sod, 
So  this  soul  of  mine  must  ever 

Struggle  through  the  dark  to  God  ! 

Light  untempered  pales  the  blossom, 
Suns  unclouded  blight  the  grain  — 

So  the  Love  that's  winged  with  Wisdom 
Calls  His  clouds  and  gives  them  rain. 


YOICES      OF      GRIEF.  147 

I,  a  plant  in  God's  great  garden, 

Grain  within  His  guarded  field, 
Need  I  not,  as  well  as  sunshine, 

Rain  to  make  me  thrive  and  yield  ? 

In  the  day  the  great  earth  wearies, 

Sickens  'neath  the  burning  sun ; 
In  the  night  she  rallies  nobly, 

Till  her  strength  is  all  re-won. 
Dews  fresh-dropt  from  Nature's  chalice, 

Cool  and  quicken  all  her  powers, 
Fit  her  for  another  morrow's 

Struggle  through  the  sultry  hours, 

In  the  light  my  soul  grows  sickly, 

Sluggish,  faint  —  until,  at  length, 
In  the  dark  how  strong  it  struggles, 

Battling  for  its  bartered  strength  ! 
Tears,  like  dews,  refresh  and  hallow 

All  its  powers  for  noble  strife  ; 
Fit  and  nerve  it  for  another 

Upward  effort  into  Life. 


148  UTTERANCE. 

Life  is  Toil  —  he  lives,  he  only, 

Who,  amid  his  daily  cares, 
Sees  a  mighty  end  upspringing, 

Like  choice  wheat  among  the  tares. 
He  who  patience  gleans  from  trial, 

Strength  from  struggle,  hope  from  pain. 
He  twice  lives  —  on  earth  —  in  heaven  — 

He  who  lives  once,  lives  again  ! 


Y  DICES      OF      GRIEF.  149 


A    SEA-SIDE    THOUGHT. 

OH,  thou  blue  Ocean  !  on  thy  breast 

Gay  barks  float  idly  by,  — 
By  the  soft  summer  winds  caressed, 

And  smiled  on  by  a  cloudless  sky. 

But  far  away  —  beyond  this  tide 

Slow-beating  on  the  shore, 
Where  the  great  ships  untrammeled  ride 

And  the  long  billows  chafe  and  roar,  — 

Out  on  the  great,  wild,  heaving  deep, 

There  riots  many  a  storm, 
And  the  fierce  waters  swell  and  sweep 

O'er  many  a  heart  once  beating  warm. 

—  Oh,  thou  blue  Ocean  !  who  might  guess, 
Gazing  as  I  do  now 


150  TJTT  E  RANG  E. 

On  yon  bright  waves  whose  calm  caress 

Goes  murmuring  round  each  graceful  prow,  — 

That  such  dark  secrets  slept  beneath 
These  ripples  necked  with  gold?  — 

That  such  wild  tales  of  wreck  and  death 
Thy  distant  surges  might  unfold? 

—  So  once  on  Life's  calm  brink  I  lay, 

A  happy,  little  child, 
Caressed  by  ripples  in  their  play, 

While  Hope's  blue  sky  looked  down  and  smiled. 

Alas,  how  little  then  I  thought 

Of  stormy  seas  afar, 
Where  the  great  skies  are  tempest-fraught, 

And  the  great  billows  rage  and  war  ! 

Oh,  wrecks  of  Hope  and  Trust  and  Love, 

That  sleep  Life's  waves  below, 
Where  the  wild  seas  have  closed  above 

And  left  no  trace  of  wreck  and  woe,  — 


YOICES     OP     GRIEF.  151 

Come  from  the  caverns  where  ye  lie, 

For  Faith  itself  grows  wild  — 
Bring  back  to  me  the  sunny  sky 

That  spanned  me  when  I  was  a  child ! 

Bring  back  the  faith,  the  hope,  the  glee 
That  blessed  those  days  of  yore,  — 

Bring  back  the  heart  of  youth  to  me,  — 
Make  me  a  little  child  once  more  ! 

In  vain !  —  oh  thou  blue,  restless  Sea, 

Thy  dead  shall  rise  at  last  — 
But  what  loud  trump  shall  wake  for  me 

The  loves  and  hopes  of  that  dear  Past  ? 


152  TJTTEKANCE. 


STANZAS. 

"Changed!  changed!" 

NAY,  look  not  on  me  thus 
With  those  sad  eyes  of  thine ; 

Too  tenderly  they  gaze  on  me, 
Too  mournfully  they  shine  ! 

Now  they  are  filled  with  tears 
That  shadow  all  their  rays ; 

I  pray  thee,  look  not  on  me  thus, 
With  that  sad,  mournful  gaze ! 

Thou  hast  been  all  too  good, 
Too  kind,  too  fond,  —  while  I  — 

My  blushes  must  reveal  the  tale, 
My  lips  in  vain  may  try. 


VOICES      OF      GRIEF.  153 

Yet  I  did  love  thee  well, 

And  thought  there  could  not  be 

A  fairer  or  a  dearer  one 
Than  I  had  found  in  thee. 

—  I  know  not  why  it  is,  — 

This  change  upon  me  now ;  — 
Not  that  thy  cheek  has  grown  less  fair, 

Less  beautiful  thy  brow. — 

No,  —  for  thy  face  still  wears 

The  look  of  other  days ; 
There's  still  the  same  calm  beauty  there 

I  used  so  oft  to  praise. 

And  yet  —  but  'twere  in  vain 

To  pain  thine  ear  with  more; 
I  only  know  I  love  thee  not 

As  I  did  love  —  of  yore. 


154  UTTERANCE. 


SONNET: 

WRITTEN   ON  THE  FLY-LEAF  OF  A  FAVORITE  AUTHOR. 

OH  Life  !  —  to  other  hearts  so  rich,  so  glad ! 

So  poor  to  me,  so  dark,  so  deeply  sad  !  — 

My  Past  —  all  blotted  with  a  thousand  tears, 

My  Future  —  haunted  with  a  thousand  fears, 

My  Present  —  crowded,  crushed  with  memories  of  years 

Consumed  and  wasted  in  a  fruitless  strife 

To  bear  and  suffer  on  and  call  the  struggle,  Life  ! 

Oh,  I  am  weary,  sick !     My  heart  is  worn 

In  the  long  combat ;  —  will  it  ever  cease, 

And  leave  me,  bruised  indeed,  but  no  more  torn 

By  the  strong  vulture  that  consumes  its  peace  ? 

Oh,  fruitless  questioning  !     Why  dream  of  rest  ? 

Let  the  dark  years    roll    on  —  they   bear  me  on  their 

breast  — 
And  I  shall  sleep  at  length — my  last  sleep  and  my  best! 


VOICES     OF      GRIEF.  155 


SONNET. 

Poos  heart  of  mine  !   methought  thou  knewest  well 

Thy  victory,  earned  with  such  regretful  pain, — 

Yet  I  did  wake  but  one  sad,  slumbering  spell, 

And  all  thy  weakness  crowded  back  again. 

Ah,  woe  is  me,  for  that  my  power  is  vain 

To  battle  with  the  Past!  —  My  Father,  Thou, 

Alone  of  all,  dost  know  the  weary  strife 

That  stirs  beneath  this  calm,  unaltered  brow, 

The  lonely  contest  of  my  inner  life 

'Gainst  the  rude  foes  with  which  itself  is  rife. 

Oh,  aid  me  in  the  combat !     Round  me  cast 

The  dews  of  sweet  contrition,  that  my  tears 

May  blind  me  to  the  beckonings  of  the  Past, 

And  be  a  gulf  'twixt  me  and  those  mistaken  years  ! 


156  TJT  TE  EANC  E. 


A    MEMORY. 

OH  why,  when  fondly  on  my  lips, 

Love  prest  dear  kisses  warm  and  fast, 
Wandered  my  won  heart  back  to  thee, 

And  that  half-haunting,  mournful  Past  ? 
With  each  wild  pressure  wherefore  lay 

Some  linked  remembrance  of  thine  own, 
To  thrill  me  with  the  old  delight 

That  to  my  soul  so  strange  had  grown  r 

I  answered  back  with  burning  tears 

Each  wild'ring  kiss  on  lip  and  brow ; 
I  knew  no  other  meet  response, 

Dreaming,  the  while,  alas,  'twas  thou ! 
But,  that  one  blind,  sad  vision  o'er, 

My  heart  grew  calm  and  still  at  last  — 
And  a  sweet  anthem  stirred  my  soul, 

A  poean  o'er  the  conquered  Past ! 


SACRED   VOICES. 


SACRED    VOICES. 


A    THOUGHT    OF    ETERNITY. 

ETERNITY  !  —  what  toil  of  mine  can  frame 

A  thought  sublime  enough  to  grasp  thy  name ! 

The  Great  Unknown !  the  shoreless,  silent  sea  !  — 

The  vast,  dim,  distant,  dread  Eternity ! 

Time  knows  no  line  of  measurement  to  trace 

This  ever-infinite,  this  boundless  space  ! 

Earth's  forests  are  too  bare  with  all  their  leaves 

To  stand  its  type,  and  Ocean  vainly  heaves, 

And  tasks  its  iron  strength  to  crowd  the  shore 

"With  sands  whose  sum  could  tell  its  moments  o'er ! 

For  yearless,  monthless,  it  wearies  on, 

Nor  lessens  aught  when  age  on  age  is  gone  ! 

—  Help  me,  sweet  Faith  !  —  my  spirit  is  afraid 


160  UTTERANCE. 

Of  its  own  thought,  and,  trembling  and  dismay 'd, 

Chiding  its  toil  to  grasp  eternal  things, 

Folds  its  faint  pinion  on  thy  stronger  wings. 

As  Peter  on  the  dark  Tiberian  wave 

Sinking,  cried  out  for  help,  "  Oh  Jesus,  save  !  " 

So,  venturing  blindly  on  this  shoreless  sea, 

This  single  glimpse  of  dread  Eternity, 

My  spirit,  sinking,  cries,  sweet  Faith,  for  thee. 

Oh,  strengthen  and  assure  me,  lest  I  fail 

To  credit  what  but  seems  a  wondrous  tale,  — 

A  wild  creation  born  of  troubled  dreams,  — 

A  thing  which  is  not  but  which  only  seems. 

—  Yet,  there  it  stands  —  Eternity  —  God's  home  !  — 
And  mine  as  well  when  Life's  short  toil  is  done. 

—  Oh,  let  me  gather  up  my  scattered  powers, 
And  task  them  nobly  thro'  the  coming  hours  ; 
So,  when  my  Life,  nay,  Time  itself  is  o'er, 
Looking  serenely  on  its  fading  shore, 

My  soul  may  launch  where  now  it  dares  no  more 
Than  feebly  glance  —  even  upon  that  sea 
Unknown  and  vast  —  the  limitless  To-Be  — 
God's  dwelling-place  and  mine,  —  Eternity  .' 


SACKED      YOICES.  161 


SABBATH-EVENING    HYMN. 

MY  Father,  in  the  fading  light 

Of  this  blest  day,  so  calm  and  still, 

Ere  yet  the  shadows  of  the  night 
Lie  down  on  every  vale  and  hill, 

While  the  sweet  Sabbath  lingers  on, 

My  spirit  fain  would  seek  Thy  throne. 

A  hymn  of  love  my  soul  should  sing, 
To  Thee,  great  length'ner  of  my  days 

But  oh,  forgive  me,  that  I  bring 

Complaints  instead  of  grateful  praise,  - 

Forgetting  in  this  hour  of  tears, 

The  love  and  goodness  of  long  years. 

I  look  around  on  this  glad  earth, 

And  see  how  bright  it  is,  and  fair  — 
11 


162  UTTERANCE. 

How  beautiful  and  full  of  mirth  — 

How  void  of  weariness  and  care  — 
And  yet  I  turn  from  all,  to  feel 
A  deeper  sadness  o'er  me  steal. 

It  jars  like  discord  on  my  heart, 
The  song  of  joy  that  Nature  trills! 

My  spirit  cannot  take  a  part 
In  the  sweet  melody  of  rills ; 

The  music  of  the  deep  blue  sea, 

As  well  a  mournful  dirge  may  be. 

And  tho'  the  fair  and  peaceful  skies 
Smile  on  me  with  their  glance  of  love, 

And  one  by  one  soft  stars  arise, 
Each  trembling  in  the  blue  above, 

It  seems  a  mock'ry  of  my  woe, 

That  they  should  shine  and  sparkle  so. 

Oh  Thou,  who  once  on  Marah's  tide 
Of  bitter  waves,  did'st  healing  pour, 


SACRED      VOICES.  163 

I  look  to  Thee  !  —  no  power  beside 
My  soul's  lost  sweetness  can  resto 
Oh  purify  with  grace  divine 
This  turbid,  troubled  soul  of  mine  ! 

Then  shall  it  yield  to  Thee  once  more, 
Its  willing  tribute,  pure  and  sweet,  — 

And  in  full  tides  of  gladness  pour 
Its  gathered  homage  at  Thy  feet, — 

Joyful  at  length  to  rest  in  Thee  — 

A  tired  wave  that  has  found  the  sea  ! 


164  UTTERANCE. 


THE  HAPPY  LAND. 

OH,  there  are  moments  when  my  heart  is  longing 

To  break  the  fetters  of  this  earthly  clay, 
And  soaring  on  swift  wings,  behold  the  dawning, 

The  glorious  op'ning  of  eternal  day ! 
To  leave  this  earthly  and  obscure  abode, 
And  find  myself  at  home,  with  angels  and  with  God ! 

Oh  there  are  pleasures  in  that  happy  dwelling 

Where  the  redeemed  ones  strike  their  harps  of  gold, 
While  all  the  air  with  harmony  is  swelling  — 

Pleasures  too  bright,  too  rapturous  to  be  told, 
Joys  that  this  earth  is  all  too  poor  to  buy, 
Pleasures  undreamt  of  here,  but  known  and  shared  on 
high. 

There  flow  the  ripples  of  that  heavenly  river 
Whose  joy-inspiring  waters  never  cease, 


SACKED      VOICES.  165 

And  there  the  tree  of  life  is  blooming  ever, 

Bearing  the  fruits  of  holiness  and  peace. 
And  every  dweller  in  that  happy  land 
May   touch    and    take    the    fruit    with    an    unsparing 
hand. 

Oh  happy,  happy  dwelling!  —  Not  a  sorrow 
Burdens  the  air  with  sighings  of  distress, 

No  longings  for  a  better,  happier  morrow, 
Haunt  that  dear  land  of  perfect  blessedness ! 

But  peace  and  gladness  plume  their  pinions  bright, 
And  fill  the  whole  blest  air  with  rapture  and  delight. 

There  walk  the  saints  in  robes  of  dazzling  whiteness, 
Those  who  with  us  these  earthly  homes  have  trod ; 

Now  they  are  clothed  with  majesty  and  brightness, 
And  talk  with  angels  and  commune  with  God. 

Oh,  how  supremely  blest,  to  have  laid  down 
Clay  for  an  angel's  robe  and  ashes  for  a  crown  ! 

Strange  that  these  hearts  of  ours  should  ever  falter, 
Weeping  for  those  committed  to  the  dust, 


166  UTTERANCE  . 

Whose  souls  already  bow  before  the  altar 

"With  the  great  concourse  of  the  good  and  just ! 
Strange  that  our  love  would  call  them,  back  again 
To  life's  great  toilsome  march,  —  once  more  care  laden 
men! 

Had  we  one  glimpse  of  that  unwritten  glory 

Shared  by  the  loved  one  in  his  home  above, 
Could  he  but  tell  the  yet  unspoken  story 

Of  the  deep  gladness  of  that  clime  of  love, 
We  should  bow  down  in  meekness,  and  adore 
The  Hand  that  took,  nor  ask  the   treasure   back   once 
more. 

Oh  happy,  happy  land !  —  my  heart  is  weary 
With  its  sad  longings  for  thy  peaceful  rest ; 

I'm  pining  for  my  home,  and  long  and  dreary 
Seemeth  the  way  that  leads  me  to  the  blest. 

Yet  will  I  travel  on,  and  hope  at  length 
To  reach  that  land  of  love,  of  joy  and  perfect  strength. 


SACKED      YOI  CE  S.  167 


THE    PILGRIM. 

"And  the  bended  bow  and  the  voice  passed  on." 

HEMANS. 

WEARY,  wayworn,  sad,  and  faint, 
Pouring  out  my  mournful  plaint, 
Crying  with  a  burdened  soul, 
"Jesus,  save  and  make  me  whole!"  — 
Soon  He  heard  my  voice,  and  cried, 
"  Look  on  me,  —  the  crucified !  " 

And  my  spirit  looked  to  the  gracious  throne, 
And  my  load  of  guilt  and  the  voice  passed  on. 

Once  again  my  soul  was  dark ; 
Hope  was  dying,  spark  by  spark  j 
Clouds  of  sorrow,  fear,  and  sin, 
Shrouded  me  their  folds  within. — 


168  UTTERANCE. 

But  a  voice  broke  through  the  night, — 
"  Trust  in  me,  —  thy  living  light !  " 

And  my  spirit  looked  where  the  bright  ray  shone, 
And  the  night  of  gloom  and  the  voice  passed  on. 

Poverty  with  ruthless  sway 
Gained  upon  me  day  by  day ; 
Tremblingly  I  looked  around  ; 
—  Could  no  help  for  me  be  found? 
Lo,  a  voice,  —  "Fear  not,"  it  said, 
"Feed  on  me,  —  thy  living  bread." 

And  my  spirit  fed  on  the  Heavenly  One, 

And  the  faithless  doubt  and  the  voice  passed  on.  - 

Sickness  came  with  rapid  tread, — 
Laid  his  hand  upon  my  head ;  — 
Friends  forsook  and  foes  drew  near, — 
All  my  spirit  shook  with  fear ; 
Still  the  heavenly  voice  was  nigh,  — 
"  Lean  on  me  ;  —  I  cannot  die." 


SACRED      VOICES.  169 

And  my  heart  grew  still,  for  my  foes  were  gone, — 
And  the  hour  of  pain  and  the  voice  passed  on. 


' 


170  UTTERANCE. 


TRUTH. 

PART  I. 

"  What  is  Truth  ?  " 

PILATE. 

AND  what  is  Truth.  ?     Oh  doubting  Friend, 
Not  with  your  ashes  died  your  doubt ; 

Still  seeks  a  baffled  world  to  rend 
The  veil  that  shuts  the  answer  out. 

Shrouded  it  stands,  as  when  of  old 
The  sacred  Teacher  turned  away, 

With  the  great  secret  all  untold, 

Save  what  His  own  true  life  could  say. 

Still,  what  is  Truth  1     Not  creed  nor  sect, 
Claiming  this  pearl  of  greatest  worth, 

But  owns  its  brightness  marred  and  flecked 
With  the  poor  canker- spots  of  earth. 


SACKED      TOICES  .  171 

I  see  so  many  devious  ways  — 

All  promise  well,  yet  still  I  grope ; 

Bewildered  in  the  trackless  maze, 
Yet  lighted  by  a  boundless  hope  — 

A  boundless  hope  —  a  holy  trust 
That  light  to  all  shall  yet  be  given ; 

That  some  kind,  waiting  influence  must 
Teach  all  at  length  one  way  to  heaven  — 

One  faith  —  one  Lord  —  one  holy  seal 

Of  baptism  —  one  heavenly  birth  ; 
Come,  thou  great  Present- One,  reveal 

Thy  secret  to  a  waiting  earth ! 

Like  Pilate,  we  too,  fain  would  cry 

Lord,  "  what  is  Truth  ?  "  —  oh,  give  us  light, 

Nor  let  Thy  living  voice  still  lie 
Tombed  in  its  sepulchre  of  night. 

Bid  Thy  dear  angels  take  away 

The  stone  that  Error's  hands  have  rolled 


172  UTTERANCE. 

To  bar  the  advent  of  that  day 

By  Thine  own  prophets  long  foretold  — 

When  Truth  shall  reign  —  when  all  the  race 
Shall  bow  one  common  knee  to  Thee, 

And  each  shall  see  in  every  face 
One  title  to  humanity ; 

When  Pagan,  Christian,  Jew,  and  Greek, 
Shall  strive  before  one  common  shrine, 

No  Shibboleth  of  a  creed  to  speak, 
But  a  name  greater  —  even  Thine  ! 


PART  II. 

The  secret  of  the  Lord  is  with  them  that  fear  Him." 

SCRIPTURES. 

THY  secret,  Lord  ?  —  alas,  my  heart 
Half  wearies  in  its  search  for  Truth, 

And  weeps,  from  all  the  world  apart, 
Over  its  ignorance  and  youth. 


SACKED      VOICES.  173 

Life  seems  a  great  bewildering  show, 
Crowded  with  good  and  evil  too  — 

And  who  shall  teach  me  where  to  go  ? 
What  path  to  shun,  and  what  pursue  ? 

For  oh,  'tis  hard  to  fix  the  bound 

Where  right  declines  and  wrong  begins, 

Since  Virtue's  very  home  is  found 
Next  neighbor  often  unto  Sin's. 

I  love  —  before  I  know,  my  kind, 

Warm  love  becomes  idolatry  ; 
I  hate  some  sin  —  anon  I  find 

The  sinner  too  despised  by  me  ; 

With  eager  zeal  I  crush  some  worm 

Of  slimy  Error  that  has  tracked 
Its  baleful  way  across  some  germ 

Of  good  —  both  perish  in  the  act. 

Oh,  who  shall  teach  me  where  to  stand, 
And  how  with  steady  skill  to  pile 


174  TJTTEEANCE. 

Life's  balances  on  either  hand, 

Nor  jar  their  perfect  poise  the  while? 

Where  is  that  blest  Utopian  line, 
That  warm  equator  of  the  soul, 

Where  Truth's  bright  tropics  ever  shine, 
Nor  fear  th'  extremes  of  either  pole  ?  — 

Where  Truth's  ripe  fruitage  falters  not 
'Neath  Folly's  blast  nor  Error's  blight? 

What  human  soul  has  neared  that  spot, 
That  centre-line  of  perfect  right  ? 

None  !     Only  He  who  once  below 
Serenely  walked,  of  men  a  part, 

Yet  claiming  to  His  essence  too 

Copartnership  with  God's  great  heart  — 

He  only  has  the  pathway  found, 
The  highway  of  a  perfect  life ; 

Alas,  on  what  inferior  ground 

We  walk  with  Truth  itself  at  strife ! 


SACKED      VOICES.  175 

Yet  down  the  ages'  solemn  aisle, 
Through  the  dim  vestibule  of  time, 

Come  back,  to  him  who  lists  the  while, 
The  echoes  of  those  steps  sublime. 

And  he  who  follows  where  they  lead, 
Thy  secret,  Lord,  at  length  shall  see  ; 

For  he  is  nearest  Truth  whose  deed, 
Or  great  or  small,  is  likest  Thee  ! 


176  UTTERANCE. 


"A    STRANGE    PULPIT." 

[A  fact  which  occurred  somewhat  recently  in  India,  on  the  occasion 
of  the  great  festival  of  Juggernaut.] 

ONWARD,  like    some    mighty    demon,    rolls    the    huge 

colossal  car, 
While    the   jaded    crowd,    slow-yielding,  shrink    before 

its  iron  jar. 

Shrined   in    its    unholy   bosom,    stands    the   Idol    grim 

and  bold  — 
Juggernaut  —  the   worshipped    monster  —  tricked    with 

silk  and  burnished  gold. 

Shouts,  and  cries,  and  wild  responses,  vex  the  blessed 

tropic  air, 

Where    the    golden    sunset    pausing,    calls    instead    to 
praise  and  prayer. 


SACRED      VOICES.  177 

Thou  dear  God,  in  all   this   mockery,  this   unhallowed 

strife  and  din, 
Hast  Thou  not  one  faithful  witness,  strong  to  unmask 

the  frightful  sin  ? 

—  Lo,  from  'mongst  the  maddened  concourse,  springs 
one  firm  and  stalwart  form, 

With  his  broad  brow  raised  and  bright'ning,  rainbow- 
like,  above  the  storm. 

Courage!    he   has   gained   the   terrace,  and  with  lifted 

eyes  he  stands 
In  the  Idol  Car,  confronting  its  grim  God  with  folded 

hands. 

From  his  lips  no   fiery  outburst   like    a    fierce    sirocco 

rolls, 
But   his    calm,  persuasive    accents    sway   that    tide    of 

living  souls. 

'  Come  to  Jesus,   oh   ye    weary,   toiling    on,   yet    still 
unblest,  — 
12 


178  UTTERANCE. 


Jesus   is    the    sinner's    refuge  —  Jesus   is    the    sinner's 
rest." 


How  the   rapt    crowd   gather    round    him,  hanging  on 

his  lips  of  flame, 
As  they  kindle  with  the  utterance  of  that  well-beloved 

name  ! 

Oh,  auspicious,  happy  omen !    Christ's  dear   banner   is 

unfurled 
From  the  very  gates  of  Satan  to  the  wide   gaze   of  a 

world ! 

Glorious   deed !    no    nation's    plaudit    crowns    it    with 

immortal  bays, 
But  the  God  of  nations  heeds  it,  and   its   meed   shall 

be  His  praise  ;  — 

And    its    savor,    wide    diffusing,    yet    shall    reach    the 

farthest  shore, 
Till  the  whole  earth  swells  the  chorus,  "  God  is  Lord 

for  ever  more  !  " 


SACRED      YOICES.  179 


JOHN    21:    15-17. 

"  FEED  my  sheep  —  they  wander  wide 

O'er  the  earth  my  hands  have  made ; 
Famishing  on  every  side, 
Will  ye  still  refuse  to  aid? 


"  Feed  my  sheep  —  from  south  to  north, 

Rouse,  ye  saints,  my  name  who  bear ! 
With  the  living  bread  go  forth  — 
Give  to  each  and  all  a  share. 


"  Feed  my  lambs  —  tho'  weak  and  small, 

Bid  them  to  the  gospel  feast ; 
Milk  there  is  and  wine  for  all  — 
For  the  smallest,  weakest,  least." 


180  UTTERANCE. 

Saviour,  we  would  fain  obey, 
Feed  us  with  the  living  bread ; 

Then  go  with  us  on  our  way, 
Till  thy  whole  wide  flock  is  fed, 


SACKED      VOICES.  181 


MUSINGS. 

THE  crickets  are  singing  the  blossoms  to  sleep, 
The  night  winds  are  drinking  the  dew- tears  they  weep, 
The  birds  have  all  gone  to  their  homes  on  the  tree, 
And  no  one  is  here  in  the  stillness  but  me. 

The  heavens  are  so  placid,  the  earth  is  so  fair, 
So  sweet  is  each  breath  of  this  soft  summer  air, 
That  surely  my  soul  should  grow  holy  with  thought, 
When  everything  round  with  such  beauty  is  fraught. 

So  beautiful  outward !  —  but  oh,  from  within, 
From  the  depths  of  my  spirit  all  sullied  with  sin, 
No  answering  echo  is  wakened  to  life, 
But  discord  instead,  and  confusion  and  strife. 

I  gaze  on  the  sky  in  its  glorious  light, 

—  To  me  it  is  dim  with  the  blackness  of  night, 


182  UTTERANCE. 

I  think  of  the  realms  of  the  blessed  afar, 
Beyond  the  bright  region  of  planet  and  star ; 

I  know  there's  a  home  for  the  wanderer  there, 
A  rest  for  the  weary,  untroubled  by  care; 
But  ah,  to  my  spirit  no  solace  is  given, 
Tho'  whispering  nature  is  telling  of  Heaven. 

For  how  can  I  hope  for  the  joys  of  the  blest  — 

My  soul  all  unholy  and  full  of  unrest  ? 

Oh,  how  can  I  look  on  the  beautiful  sky, 

And  read  there  a  claim  to  those  mansions  on  high  ? 

And  yet  I  am  weary  of  living  for  earth  — 

Its  pleasures  are  tasteless  and  hollow  its  mirth  — 

My  spirit  is  seeking  some  holier  shore, 

Where,  folding  its  wings,  itvmay  wander  no  more. 

And  are  not  the  weary  invited  to  come, 
And  find  in  the  bosom  of  Jesus  a  home  ? 
And  may  I  not  venture,  tho'  burdened  with  sin, 
And  plead  His  kind  promise  and  so  enter  in  ? 


SACRED      VOICES.  183 

At  least  I  may  venture ;  —  'tis  open  to  all  — 
I'll  hasten  and  go  at  so  gracious  a  call ! 
And  Jesus  will  meet  me  and  call  me  his  own, 
And  give  me  a  place  near  his  glorious  throne. 


184  T7TTEBANCE. 


PRAYEK. 

WHEN  morning  is  rising  o'er  mountain  and  lawn, 
And  earth  is  awaking  to  welcome  the  dawn, 
When  far  down  the  valley  the  mists  fly  away, 
Arouse  thee  from  slumber,  arouse  thee,  and  pray. 

And  when  the  warm  noon  in  its  stillness  draws  nigh, 
And  nature  seems  ready  to  languish  and  die, 
Then  halt  on  thy  march  in  the  heat  of  the  day, 
And  lift  thy  tired  thoughts  to  thy  Father  and  pray. 

When  evening  descends  like  a  spirit  of  peace, 
And  labor  and  tumult  grow  fainter  and  cease, 
Dismiss  all  the  turmoil  and  cares  of  the  way, 
To  pause  in  the  beautiful  stillness  and  pray. 

Remember  His  goodness  whose  hand  has  supplied 
Each  want  of  thy  spirit,  nor  ever  denied 


SACRED      VOICES.  185 

The  smiles  of  His  bounty  to  gladden  thy  way  — 
Remember  His  goodness  and  gratefully  pray. 

Oh,  pray  to  Him  always  —  in  sorrow  and  joy  — 
When  peace  is  around  thee  or  troubles  annoy  — 
The  light  of  His  presence  thy  grief  shall  allay, 
Or  hallow  thy  gladness  —  then  constantly  pray. 


186  UTTERANCE. 


NIGHT    HYMN. 

THE  night  is  round  me  and  the  dew, 
The  moon,  the  stars,  the  sky  of  blue, 
Sweet  breezes  float  above  me  now, 
And  fan  my  cheek  and  kiss  my  brow ; 
There's  beauty,  beauty  all  around, 
In  earth  and  sky,  in  sight  and  sound. 

My  Father,  help  me  to  look  up, 
Before  I  raise  this  o'er-filled  cup 
Of  joy  and  beauty  to  my  lip, 
Oh  help  me,  e'er  I  blindly  sip, 
To  raise  my  feeble  thought  aright 
To  Thee,  great  Author  of  the  night! 

How  great  art  Thou  !    the  skies  to  Thee 
Are  but  a  speck,  —  the  earth  and  sea, 


SACKED      VOICES.  187 

Lie  in  the  hollow  of  Thy  hand, 
Like  slaves  awaiting  Thy  command ; 
And  stars,  to  us  so  vast  and  high, 
Are  numbered  to  Thy  searching  eye. 

How  great  art  Thou !  —  yet  still  to  Thee, 
I,  even  I,  may  bow  the  knee, 
Assured  that  He  who  built  the  skies, 
And  bade  the  moon  and  stars  arise, 
And  gave  the  cool  and  balmy  air, 
Will  listen  to  my  humble  prayer. 

And  therefore  do  I  bend  the  knee, 
Great  Author  of  the  night,  to  Thee. 
—  Oh,  when  I  sink  to  dreamy  sleep, 
My  life  and  spirit  kindly  keep, 
And  wake  me  with  the  morning  light, 
To  praise  Thee  for  a  quiet  night. 


YOICES   BY   THE   WAY. 


VOICES   BY  THE  WAY. 


"WISHING    BRIDGE." 

TREAD  ye  it  lightly  —  this  fair,  green  dell 
Is  dim  with  the  breath  of  a  solemn  spell ; 
Shadows  are  here  in  this  calm  retreat, 
Haunting  the  air  with  their  shrouded  feet ! 

Forms  that  are  laid  with  the  sleeping  dead 
Follow  our  steps  with  their  silent  tread  ; 
Tones  that  grew  still  in  the  hush  of  death 
Hover  around  us  with  voiceless  breath. 

Stay  ye  and  listen ;  —  each  whispering  breeze 
Filleth  the  bosom  with  thoughts  like  these ; 


192  UTTERANCE. 

How  can  ye  roam  in  this  quiet  spot, 
And  the  spell  of  its  silence  be  all  forgot  ? 

Footsteps  as  bounding  as  yours  have  pressed 
This  worn  old  bridge  where  your  own  now  rest; 
Footsteps  whose  coming  was  joy  and  mirth ! 

—  Woe  that  they  ever  should  pass  from  earth ! 

How  many  fond  wishes  have  here  been  told, 
Dear  to  the  heart  as  a  miser's  gold ! 
How  many  bright  hopes  have  been  murmured  free 
Under  the  shade  of  this  whispering  tree  ! 

Love  has  been  here  with  its  magic  power, 
Weaving  bright  tales  in  the  twilight  hour ; 
Breathing  its  wishes  with  earnest  brow  ; 

—  Where  are  the  loved  and  the  loving  now  ? 

Gladness  has  trodden  this  green  retreat, 
Beauty  and  youth  with  their  dancing  feet; 
Manhood  and  age  —  and  the  lisping  child 
Cheering  the  stillness  with  gambols  wild. 


YOICES      BY     THE     WAY.  193 

Sorrow  has  been  in  these  peaceful  dells, 
Sighing  and  weeping,  and  sad  farewells; 
Sorrowful  partings  —  yet  meetings  too, 
Happy  and  gay  as  the  earth  e'er  knew. 

How  many  have  wandered  these  fair  dells  o'er, 
And  this  grass-grown  bridge,  that  will  come  no  more! 
Each  with  a  wish  for  the  coming  years, 
Whispered  in  gladness  or  breathed  in  tears  ! 

And  are  they  not  sacred  —  these  solemn  dells, 
Bound  as  they  are  by  a  thousand  spells  ? 
Is  not  the  air  with  a  stillness  fraught,  — 
Owning  the  sway  of  a  mighty  thought  ? 

Death  is  around  us,  though  fair  the  spot, 
Death  —  in  the  forms  of   the  unforgot ! 
Forms  that  were  fleeting  as  summer  hours  ;  — 
Say,  do  ye  marvel  that  tears  are  ours  ? 

Turn  ye  away  from  these  quiet  vales  ; 
Turn  ye  away  from  their  mournful  tales, 
Ye  have  no  tears  for  the  lost  to  shed, 
—  Leave  us  alone  with  the  loved  and  dead  ! 
13 


194  UTTERANCE. 


JULY    TWENTY-SEVENTH. 

MY  Birthday  !  —  I  have  wiser  grown 
Since  the  last  upon  me  shone  ; 
Strokes  have  fallen  on  my  heart, 
Rending  all  the  mists  apart,  — 
Till  a  clearer  life  I  see 
Opening  thro'  the  dark  for  me ! 

Let  me  pause  and  look  around : 
Where  I  stand  is  holy  ground  ; 
Here  the  Future  and  the  Past 
Each  their  shadow  o'er  me  cast, 
While  betwixt  the  two  I  stand, 
Eyeing  them  on  either  hand  ; 
And  I  feel  like  one  affrighted, 
In  a  stranger-land  benighted, 
Yet  impelled  to  journey  on, 


VOICES      BY      THE     WAY.  195 

Looking  ever  and  anon 

Back  upon  the  path  I've  gone. 

Oh,  thou  stern  Past,  thou  hast  been 
Witness  to  the  wrong  and  sin, 
Witness  to  the  tears  and  strife 
Waiting  on  this  restless  life ! 
Thou  hast  seen  the  sharp  regret, 
The  ceaseless  struggle  to  forget,  — 
(Dost  thou  see  it  even  yet  ?) 
Oh,  be  merciful,  I  pray, 
For  my  soul  is  weak  to-day, 
And  it  could  not,  could  not  brook 
All  the  rigor  of  thy  look. 

Bless  thee,  gentle  Past !  —  thine  eyes 
Seem  to  melt  in  kind  replies, 
While  my  soul  thus  waiting  stands 
Asking  mercy  at  thy  hands. 
Thou  dost  know,  as  none  else  could, 
All  my  breathings  after  good 
When  the  evil  by  me  stood  — 


196  UTTERANCE. 

And  how  my  soul  has  struggled  still 

'Gainst  its  own  impulsive  will  — 

Standing  up  with  firm  intent, — 

Tho'  alas,  too  often  ^bent 

From  the  high  endeavor  meant, 

It  has  yielded  to  the  foe, 

Loth  to  give  back  blow  for  blow. 

Oh,  thou  great  Past,  give  me  strength ! 

Let  me  learn  from  thee  at  length 

How  to  meet  the  coming  time 

With  a  fortitude  sublime, — 

Strong  to  battle  for  the  right 

Like  a  warrior  armed  for  fight,  — 

Resolute  to  meet  each  dawn 

"With  a  hero's  armor  on ! 

So  each  day,  my  soul  shall  grow 

Stronger  than  its  mightiest  foe, — 

Conquering,  on  to  conquer  go ! 

So  the  stern  years,  in  their  flight 
Bringing  knowledge,  giving  light, 


VOICES      BY     THE     WAY.  197 

Steps  shall  be  by  which  to  climb 
Elevations  most  sublime,  — 
Jacob's  ladders,  raised  on  high, 
Reaching,  faith-like,  to  the  sky, — 
Guides  upon  the  weary  road, 
Pointing  to  that  blest  abode 
Where  the  tired  soul  rests  with  God. 


198  UTTERANCE. 


KERNWOOD: 

AN  UNFINISHED  SUMMER  RESIDENCE  NEAR  SALEM,   MASS. 

*Tis  a  most  noble  spot,  and  meet  to  bear 
Its  lordly  title  !     How  the  weary  heart, 
After  scant  breathings  in  the  heated  air 

Of  the  close  city  and  the  crowded  mart, 
Treasures  a  spot  like  this,  where  it  may  dwell 
And  breathe  its  beauty  in,  like  some  sweet,  hallowed 
spell ! 

How  beautiful  it  is  !  —  the  very  skies 

Bend  o'er  it  with  a  holier  look  of  love  — 

And  in  the  dewy  dark,  its  starry  eyes 

Seem  gazing  down  like  angels  from  above, 

As  though  to  guard  it  through  the  livelong  night, 
Were  a  sweet  privilege  and  a  most  rare  delight ! 


VOICES     BY      THE     WAY.  199 

How  beautiful  it  is  —  for  vale  and  hill, 

Meadow  and  wood,  have    brought   their   brightest 

charms, 

And  laid  them,  like  rich  tributes  of  good  will, 
In  noble  Kernwood's  ample,  generous  arms  ; 
Till,  like  a  haunt  of  very  witchery, 
It  smiles  in  promise  now  of  what  it  soon  will  be. 

—  'Twas  early  autumn,  and  a  calm,  bright  day  ; 

Half  wistfully  we  turned  and  gazed  around  — 
How  smilingly  and  fair  before  us  lay 

Kernwood,  with  all  its  weight  of  beauty  crowned  ! 
Its  dome,  the  sky  —  its  light,  heaven's  sunny  beams — 
Its  boundary,  the  blue  magnificence  of  streams  ! 

Before  us  rose  the  mansion  proud  and  fair ; 

Turret  and  balcony  all  bathed  in  gold 
Caught  from  the  sunset  clouds  that  richly  there 

Hung  over  it  in  many  a  gorgeous  fold ;  — 
Gilding  the  quaint,  rich  carvings  with  warm  light, 
And  throwing  o'er  the  whole  a  flush  unearthly  bright ! 


200  UTTERANCE. 

Long  had  we  lingered,  but  the  city  bells 

Tolled  a  late  hour,  almost  the  close  of  day  : 
And  breathing  silently  our  sad  farewells, 

From  the  sweet  place  we  slowly  turned  away  — 
Loth  that  so  fair  a  spot  should  fade  from  view, 
And  turning  often  back  to  say  a  last  adieu. 

And  then  we  talked  of  those  whose  home  would  be 
Within  these  rich  tho'  yet  unfinished  walls  — 

We  tho't  how  oft  the  careless  tones  of  glee 

Would  ring  like  song  thro'  the  now  silent  halls  — 

And  how  like  fairy-land,  or  some  strange  dream 
Of  olden  time,  the  place  in  all  its  pride  would  seem. 

Sweet  Kern  wood  !  —  many  a  day   has   passed   since 

when, 

With  happy  steps,  I  trod  its  sunny  dells  — 
And  yet  my  heart  goes  back  to  it  again, 

Bound  to  its  beauty  by  a  thousand  spells 
Of  loveliness  and  witchery,  and  a  thrill 
That  in  my  heart  like  song  keeps  gushing,  gushing  still ! 


TOICES      BY      THE     WAY.  201 


"JUST    SIXTEEN." 

A  PICTURE. 

JUST  sixteen  !  —  Her  laughing  eyes 
Wear  the  tint  of  summer  skies  ; 
Curls  of  bright,  sunshiny  hair 
Bathe  like  light  her  forehead  fair ; 
Dimples  play  at  hide  and  seek 

Round  her  warm  lips,  ruby-bright, 
And  along  her  tinted  cheek 

Fresh  with  girlhood's  rosiest  light. 

Just  sixteen  !  —  oh,  golden  time  !  — 
Youth  and  Hope  with  wooing  chime 
Rousing  in  the  waking  breast 
Tones  yet  vague  and  unexprest  — 
Gentle  tones  of  love  and  truth, 
Haunting  with  a  magic  power, 


202  U  TTE  RAN  C  K. 

All  the  day-dreams  of  a  youth. 
Bursting,  bud-like,  into  flower. 

Just  sixteen  !  — [not  far  a-back 
Lies  my  girlhood's  rosy  track,  — 
When  my  heart  was  in  its  June  — 
With  a  glorious  life  in  tune  — 
When  I  loved  —  and  loving,  woke 

To  a  knowledge  sweet  yet  wild, 
Whose  strange  influence  o'er  me  broke, 

Leaving  me  no  more  a  child. 

Just  sixteen  !  —  oh,  laughing  girl, 
Guard  thy  hair's  luxuriant  curl, 
Keep  the  sunshine  in  thine  eyes, 
Keep  thy  warm  cheek's  dimpling  dyes,- 
But,  that  bright  dream  in  thy  soul, 

Nurse  it  not  too  fondly,  well,  — 
Lest,  with  rigorous,  strong  control, 

Coming  years  may  break  the  spell. 


YOICES      BY      THE      WAY.  203 


TWILIGHT. 

SHADOWS  of  the  evening  grimly, 

Faint  and  dimly, 
Gather  on  the  parlor  wall ; 

Over  all, 
Twilight  settles  like  a  pall. 

Each  faint  lamp  adown  the  village, 

With  envious  pillage, 
Takes  the  semblance  of  a  star; 

From  afar 
Seeming  other  than  they  are. 

Lamps  on  high,  whose  tremulous  sparkling 

Rends  the  darkling 
Curtains  of  the  shrouded  eve, 

Seem  to  grieve 
As  the  daylight  takes  its  leave. 


20-1  TJTTEBA.NCE. 

Still  'tis  fading  —  slowly  —  slowly  — 

Dim  and  holy 
Comes  the  gathering  darkness  on ; 

—  Day  is  gone  ! 
No  more  brightness  'till  the  dawn. 

Then  again  will  earth  be  lightened ; 

Shadows  frightened, 
Silently  will  steal  away 

'Neath  the  sway 
Of  another  glorious  day. 

—  Thus  I  love  to  watch  the  shining 

Day  declining,  — 
Weaving  fancies  dim  or  bright 

'Till  the  night 
Overspreads  and  wraps  me  quite. 

—  So,  when  Death's  grim  shadows  gather, 

Oh,  my  Father, 
Round  my  being,  send  Thine  aid ! 


YOICES      BY      THE      WAY.  205 

Undismayed 
May  I  watch  each  darkening  shade. 

Calmly,  with  a  holy  sadness 

Mixed  with  gladness, 
May  I  view  my  Life's  last  ray 

Fade  away, 
Glorious  as  this  setting  day  ! 

While  dear  eyes  in  loving  duty, 

(Stars  of  beauty,) 
Grieving,  hover  o'er  my  bed  ; 

When  I'm  dead, 
Weeping  that  my  life  has  fled. 

Yet  descrying  through  their  sorrow, 

Lovelier  morrow 
Waiting  me,  —  Death's  night-time  o'er,  — 

On  that  shore 
Where  'tis  day  for  ever  more  ! 


206  UTTERANCE. 


SUMMER    HYMN. 

SUMMER,  sweet  summer,  how  glorious  thou  !  — 
Weaving  warm  blossoms  to  garland  thy  brow,  — 
Playing  glad  tunes  in  the  beautiful  trees,  — 
Throwing  thy  breath  on  the  wandering  breeze, — 
Waking  the  voice  of  the  answering  stream,  — 
Dancing  along  in  the  sun's  warm  beam,  — 
Calling  the  birds  with  their  wealth  of  glee 
To  waken,  and  warble,  and  sing  with  thee ! 

Beautiful  summer,  my  heart  grows  gay 

With  the  wild  delight  of  a  child  at  play, 

As  I  see  the  buds  in  their  opening  bloom, 

Or  fill  the  vase  in  my  pleasant  room  : 

And  I  look  far  down  into  each  sweet  cup, 

And  watch  the  dew  as  it  bubbles  up ; 

And  the  wish  will  dwell  in  my  heart  for  hours, 

That  I  was  a  fairy  and  lived  in  flowers. 


VOICES      BY      THE      WAY.  207 

'Tis  a  childish  wish  —  but  I  cannot  see 

The  bird  and  the  blossom,  the  stream  and  bee, 

Or  look  on  the  depths  of  the  summer  sky, 

And  then  go  back  with  the  same  glad  eye 

To  the  haunts  of  men,  to  the  world's  cold  smile,  — 

There's  a  weariness  here  in  my  heart  the  while, 

And  a  yearning  wish  to  be  back  again 

In  the  shaded  dell  or  the  leafy  glen. 

There  is  not  a  flower  on  the  green  hill-side, 

Nor  a  wave  on  the  summer  streamlet's  tide, 

A  leaf  in  the  forest,  a  bird  on  the  tree, 

But  speaks  to  my  heart  with  a  voice  of  glee. 

And  it  is  not  strange  that  my  bosom  swells 

With  a  glad  delight  in  the  silent  dells, 

Or  beats  with  a  nameless  thrill  to  go 

Where  the  streamlets  sing  and  the  sweet  flowers  blow ! 

Beautiful  summer,  I  love  thee  well ! 

Thy  child  am  I  by  a  holy  spell, 

For  thy  pleasant  tones  and  garb  of  flowers 

Have  bound  my  heart  to  thy  witching  hours. 


208  UTTERANCE. 

I  cannot  be  weary  when  thou  art  here, 
For  the  cloud  would  vanish,  the  shadow  clear, 
To  wander  out  in  the  woods,  and  be 
Alone  with  Nature,  and  God,  and  thee  ! 


VOICES     BY     THE     WAY.  209 


LOVE'S    ILLUSION. 

WHAT  shall  I  call  thee, 

My  Blossom,  my  Flower  ? 
How  shall  I  name  thee, 

Thou  Pride  of  my  Bower? 
My  Lily,  my  Tulip, 

My  beautiful  Rose,  — 
The  fairest  and  sweetest 

Around  me  that  glows  ! 

Come  nearer,  my  Violet, 

Nearer  my  side ; 
My  Primrose,  my  Heartsease, 

My  sweet  London  Pride. 
My  darling  Acacia, 

My  Blue-bell,  my  Pink, 
My  Fox-glove,  my  Hawthorn,  - 

What  else  ?  -—  let  me  think. 
14 


210  UTTEBANCE. 

My  Jasmine,  my  Jonquil, 

My  Cowslip,  my  Sage ; 
My  Sweet-Scented-Clover, 

My  Youth-and-Old-Age ; 
My  pretty  Laburnam  — 

I've  wearied  my  store ; 
Yet  tarry  a  moment. 

I'll  think  of  some  more. 

Place  thy  hand  tenderly, 

Warmly  in  mine, 
My  Golden  Nasturtion, 

My  sweet  Columbine  ! 
Sing  to  me  softly, 

My  Calla,  my  Balm, 
And  throw  round  my  senses 

A  sweet,  witching  calm. 

Rouse  thee,  my  Dahlia, 
I'm  waiting  thy  song ; 

Ah,  wherefore  compel  me 
To  tarry  so  long  ? 


VOICES     BY     THE     WAY.  211 

But  —  would  you  believe  it? 

She's  slumbering  fast !  — 
She's  nothing  at  all, 

But  a  Poppy  at  last ! 


212  UTTERANCE 


AN    IMPROMPTU. 

ACCOUNTING  FOR  DEFICIENCY   IN  THE  ORGAN   OF  "HOPE,"   AND 
ADDRESSED   TO  A  PHRENOLOGICAL  FRIEND. 

. 

HOPE,  the  dreamer,  came  one  day 

To  my  heart  a  wooing, 
Pleading,  if  I'd  bid  him  stay, 
Never  would  he  falsely  stray, 
But  within  my  heart  alway 

Would  be  gently  cooing,  cooing  — 
Pleading  if  I'd  bid  him  stay, 
He  would  never  roam  away. 

But  my  heart,  my  foolish  heart, 

Rousing  from  its  languor, 
With  a  quick,  impulsive  start, 
Bade  the  dreaming  boy  depart, — 


TOICES     BY     THE     WAY.  213 

Chiding  his  audacious  art, 

Half  in  jest  and  half  in  anger. 
So  my  heart,  my  foolish  heart, 
Bade  the  dreaming  boy  depart. 

Now  he  shuns  me  day  and  night, 

Shuns  me  eve  and  morning. 
—  Say  tho',  —  was  it  hardly  right, 
Leaving  me  in  such  a  plight? 
Who'd  have  thought  he'd  vanish  quite, — 

Miffed  at  my  o'er-hasty  warning  ? 
Say  now,  —  was  it  hardly  right, 
Leaving  me  in  such  a  plight? 


214  UTTERANCE 


SONNET. 
TO  WILLIAM  E.  DEMPSTEE. 

SWEET  minstrel  of  the  heart !  a  wondrous  power 
Lies  prisoned  in  those  calm,  closed  lips  of  thine  ; 

And  when,  as  in  this  holy  evening  hour, 
I've  heard  thee  waken  strains  almost  divine, 
My  soul  has  well  nigh  worshipped  at  thy  shrine ;  — 

And,  with  my  shut  eyes  aching  with  the  tide 

Of  tears,  whose  passionate  force  at  length  gave  way, 

I've  listened  till  my  spirit  has  denied 

Its  union  with  this  coarse  and  common  clay 
That  circles  it  like  darkness  shrouding  day  ! 

And  I  have  longed  to  mingle  in  the  tone 

Warm  with  thy  spirit's  deep  and  earnest  sighs, 

The  low,  sad,  desolate  sighings  of  mine  own, 
And  float  thus  up  to  heaven  in  hroken  melodies  ! 


TOICES      BY      THE      WAY.  215 


SONNET: 

WRITTEN   OX  THE  FLY-LEAF  OF  WORDS  WORTH'S   MEMOIRS. 

NATURE'S  own  Poet !  —  found  she  not  in  thee 

An  earnest  lover  and  most  ample  friend  ? 
Oh,  that  thy  mantle  might  but  circle  me, 

And  thy  warm  spirit  on  my  own  descend !  — 
That,  thro'  the  outward  guise,  I  too  may  see 

The  simple  use  to  which  all  objects  bend ; 
That  every  flower,  and  bush,  and  waving  tree, 

May  solve  the  riddle  of  a  noble  end, 
A  purpose  woven  in  eternity, 

Slow-working,  veiled,  and  hard  to  comprehend, 
But,  when  at  length  wrought  out,  ordained  to  be 

A  golden  scheme  where  all  things  fitly  blend! 
Happy,  oh  Wordsworth,  thou !    and  happy  he 

Whose  simplest  thoughts,  like  thine,  to    such  sweet 
uses  tend. 


216  TJ  TIE  RANGE. 


MY    GRAVE. 

GIVE  me  a  grave  where  the  wild  blossoms  revel, 

Let  me  repose  'neath  some  whispering  tree  ; 
Close  by  the  home  of  the  robin  and  sparrow, 

Near  to  the  haunts  of  the  murmuring  bee. 
Bury  me  not  where  the  place  is  all  silent 

Save  the  dull  sound  of  the  bat  on  the  wing, 
Or  the  screech  of  the  owl  in  his  midnight  carousal 

Haunting  the  spot  like  a  terrified  thing. 

Let  me  not  lie  where  the  brier  and  bramble 

Choke  the  green  grass  o'er  my  place  of  repose ; 
Give  me  no  grave  where  the  poisonous  night-shade 

Over  my  ashes  its  dim  shadow  throws ; 
Friends  that  I  loved  in  the  hour  of  myjbeing 

Never  would  visit  my  desolate  bed, 
Or,  if  they  came,  they  would  turn  away  shuddering, 

Linking  dark  thoughts  with  the  home  of  the  dead. 


VOICES     BY     THE     WAY.  217 

No  —  let  me  lie  by  the  side  of  some  streamlet 

Murm'ring  its  song  in  the  flower-scented  air ; 
Seek  ye  some  place  where  the  spot  is  all  joyous, 

Meet  for  my  spirit  —  and  bury  me  there  ! 
Oh,  I  should  slumber  so  peacefully,  sweetly, 

Blossoms  to  deck  me  and  music  around ! 
Angels,  methinks,  would  be  ever  beside  me, 

Making  the  charnel-place  heavenly  ground. 

Friendship  would  come  with  its  off'ring  of  roses, 

Twining  a  chaplet  to  lay  on  my  tomb  ; 
Love  would  be  there  with  a  smile  and  a  tear-drop, 

Smiles  for  my  mem'ry  and  tears  for  my  doom. 
There  they  would  linger,  the  long  summer  evening, 

Likening  my  race  to  the  course  of  the  sun,  — 
Glad  in  its  rising  and  calm  in  its  setting, 

—  Sinking  to  rest  when  my  journey  was  done. 

Over  my  grave  they  would  talk  of  the  lost  one, 
Fondly  recalling  each  trait  that  was  dear ; 

Tenderly  throwing  the  pall  of  oblivion 
Over  the  faults  of  the  cherished  one  near. 


218  TJTTEBANCE. 

Then  they  would  pause  in  the  pleasant  recital, 
Marking  the  loveliness  scattered  abroad, 

Turning  their  thoughts  to  the  lovelier  dwelling 
Where  the  departed  was  resting  with  God. 

Then  let  me  lie  where  the  wild  blossoms  revel, 

Let  me  repose  'neath  some  whispering  tree ; 
Close  by  the  home  of  the  robin  and  sparrow, 

Near  to  the  haunts  of  the  murmuring  bee. 
Oh,  I  shall  slumber  so  peacefully,  sweetly, 

Blossoms  to  deck  me  and  music  around ! 
Surely  kind  angels  will  hover  beside  me, 

Making  the  charnel-place  heavenly  ground  ! 


VOICES      BY      THE      WAY.  219 


NIGHT. 

OH,  silent,  mystic  Night !  —  Too  oft  I  look 

Into  thy  face  as  into  some  strange  book. 

Whence  comest   thou   and   wherefore  ?  —  What   strong 

power 

Ordained  thy  waxing  and  thy  waning  hour? 
—  From  cold  Philosophy  I  turn  away, 
(Teaching  that  night  must  needs  succeed  to  day,) 
And  read  in  my  own  heart  and  in  thine  eyes, 
Solution  of  thy  seeming  mysteries. 

I  sit  within  my  solitary  room 
And  watch  how,  mid  the  ever-deepening  gloom, 
All  things  grow  shrouded,  till  the  whited  wall 
Stands  a  dim  shadow  'twixt  me  and  the  hall. 
Then,  slowly  rising,  through  my  window-bars 
I  note  how  gradually  the  patient  stars 


220  UTTERANCE. 

Sow  the  wide  sky  with  points  of  golden  light, 
Like  gems  slow-dropt  from  some  invisible  height, 
Or  beaming  flowers    fresh-flung  on  the  broad    brow  of 
night ! 

Oh,  radiant  sight !     I  see  the  moon  arise 
Just  where  the  sea  is  married  to  the  skies ; 
At  first  a  round,  broad  shape  of  blazing  fire, 
But  cooled  and  mellowed  as  she  rises  higher,  — 
Clearing    her   way   through    clouds   whose    torn    edge 

gleams 

With  the  bright  shimmer  of  her  lavish  beams, 
Till  in  mid-heaven  she  swings,  full-orbed  and  fair, 
A  golden  glory  gilding  all  the  air, 
And  flooding  earth,  till  tree  and  hillock  seem 
The  burnished  furniture  of  some  bright  dream ; 
And  the  quaint  houses  in  the  silent  town 
Lose  their  sharp  angles  and  their  dingy  brown, 
And  stand  out  in  the  moonlight  —  fair  and  neat  — 
Like  fairy  palaces  up  and  down  the  street. 
And  far  away  I  see  the  old  fort  stand, 
(The  blue  sea  bathing  it  on  either  hand,) 


VOICES      BY      THE      WAY.  221 

The  dim,  old,  silent  fort,  where,  years  ago, 

Strong  men  gave  battle  to  a  stormy  foe. 

How  peacefully  and  calmly  now  it  lies, 

Lifting  its  torn  front  to  the  holy  skies, 

Battered  as  with  the  smite  of  centuries  ! 

—  I  scarce  can  think  how  once  these  grass-grown  banks 

Rang  to  the  hurrying  tread  of  warlike  ranks,  — 

How  from  yon  ramparts,  silent  now  as  death, 

Strong  cannon  thundered  with  their  fiery  breath,  — 

And  how  in  yon  green  plain  that  sleeps  below, 

The  planted  troops  stood  strong  against  the  foe  ! 

I  pause  and  marvel  as  by  turns  I  trace 

Those  dim  old  ruins  and  the  Night's  calm  face,  — 

One,  e'en  in  desolation,  breathing  strife, 

The  other  pointing  to  serener  life 

And  winning  the  tired  spirit  to  repose 

Like  that  which  from  its  own  sweet  influence  flows. 

Oh,  holy  Night !    thou  teachest  Love  and  Peace ; 
Could  we  but  learn  of  thee,  all  strife  would  cease ; 
And,  like  yon  fair-orbed  moon  that  clears  her  way 
Through  clouds  gold-skirted  with  her  own  bright  ray, 


222  UTTERANCE. 

So,  gilding  all  life's  gloom  with  golden  dyes, 
Our  souls  should  struggle  to  the  upper  skies, 
And  moving  calmly  through  th'  appointed  space, 
Look  back  at  length  upon  a  glorious  race  ! 
—  Oh  give  me  patience,  strength  !  —  lift  this  tired  sou 
And  waft  it,  panting,  to  its  sought-for  goal !  — 
Subdue  its  erring,  earth-born  tendencies  !  — 
Chasten  and  mould  it  for  serener  skies  ! 

In  vain,  oh  silent  Night !    no  voice  comes  back 

To  nerve  my  spirit  to  its  upward  track, 

Yet  thy  calm  influence  shall  exert  its  share 

Of  holy  prompting  in  my  nightly  prayer, 

And  win  for  me,  perchance,  a  Father's  care, — 

And,  after,  gild  my  dreams  with  fairest  light, 

Chastened  and  pure  as  thine,  oh  holy,  holy  Night! 


VOICES     BY     THE     WAY.  223 


STRIFE    AND    PEACE. 

"  The  battle  of  our  life  is  brief, 
The  alarm  —  the  struggle  —  the  relief; 
Then  sleep  we,  side  by  side." 

LONGFELLOW. 

YES,  I  shall  sleep  !    some  sunny  day, 

When  blossoms  in  the  wind  are  dancing, 

And  children  at  their  cheerful  play 

Heed  not  the  mournful  crowd  advancing, 

Up  through  the  long  and  busy  street 
They'll  bear  me  to  my  last  retreat. 

Or  else  —  it  matters  not  —  may  rave 

The  storm,  and  sleet,  and  wintry  weather 

Above  the  bleak  and  new-made  grave, 
Where  care  and  I  lie  down  together. 

Enough  that  I  shall  know  it  not, 

Beneath,  in  that  dark,  narrow  spot. 


224  UTTERANCE. 

For  I  shall  sleep  !     As  sweet  a  sleep 
As  ever  graced  a  babe  reposing, 

Awaits  me  in  the  cell  so  deep, 

Where  I,  my  weary  eyelids  closing, 

At  length  shall  lay  me  down  to  rest, 

Heedless  of  clods  above  my  breast. 


Asleep !   how  still  this  pulse  will  lie, 
Rid  of  life's  throb  that  beats  so  wildly  ! 

How  calm  will  be  this  restless  eye, 

Erst  bright  with  tears,  now  closed  so  mildly ! 

For  not  one  dream  of  earth  will  come 

To  haunt  the  quiet  of  that  home  ! 


Oh  sweet  repose  !     Oh  slumber  blest ! 

Oh  night  of  peace  !  —  no  storm,  no  sorrow  — 
No  heavy  stirring  in  my  rest, 

To  meet  another  weary  morrow ! 
I  shall  not  note  nor  night  nor  dawn, 
But  still,  with  folded  hands,  sleep  on. 


VOICES     BY      THE     WAY.  225 

Sleep  on,  though  just  above  my  head 
Prowl  Sin  and  Misery's  haggard  faces  — 

For  the  dull  slumber  of  the  dead 
All  sense  of  human  woe  erases ; 

Palsies  the  heart  and  cures  the  brain 

Of  every  fever- throb  of  pain. 


Armies  above  my  rest  may  tramp  — 
'Twill  not  disturb  one  rigid  muscle; 

I  should  not  heed  their  iron  stamp 
More  than  a  leaf's  complaining  rustle ; 

Nay,  were  the  world  convened  to  break 

My  leaden  sleep,  I  should  not  wake. 


And  yet,  methinks,  if  steps  of  those 

I've  known  and  loved  on  earth  were  round  me, 
'Twould  tame  the  might  of  my  repose, 

Shiver  the  iron  cords  that  bound  me  — 
Save  that  I  know  this  could  not  be. 
For  death  disowns  all  sympathy. 
15 


UTTERANCE. 

Well,  be  it  so,  since  I  should  yearn 

And  weep  and  watch  for  their  appearing  — 

Chiding  each  ling'ring,  late  return, 
For  ever  sad,  for  ever  fearing  — 

Living  Life's  drama  o'er  again, 

Its  tragedy  of  Hope  and  Pain. 

Then  weep  not,  friends,  what  time  ye  lay 
The  warm,  moist  earth  above  my  ashes  ; 

Think  what  a  rest  awaits  my  clay, 

And  smooth  the  mound  with  tearless  lashes  — 

Glad  that  the  wasted  form  within 

Has  done  at  length  with  care  and  sin. 

Think  that  with  her  the  strife  is  o'er, 
Life's  stormy,  struggling  battle  ended; 

Hope  that  her  soul  has  gained  that  shore 

To  which,  though  weak,  her  footsteps  tended; 

Breathe  the  dear  hope  above  her  sod, 

And  leave  her  to  her  rest  —  and  God  ! 


VOICES     BY     THE     WAT.  227 


WHEN    I    AM    OLD. 

WHEN  I  am  old,  —  and  oh,  how  soon 
Will  Life's  sweet  morning  yield  to  noon 
And  noon's  hroad,  fervid,  earnest  light  — 
Be  shrouded  in  the  solemn  night ;  — 
Till  like  a  story  well-nigh  told, 
Will  seem  my  life  —  when  I  am  old. 

When  I  am  old  —  this  breezy  earth 
Will  lose  for  me  its  voice  of  mirth  j  — 
The  streams  will  have  an  under-tone 
Of  sadness,  not  by  right  their  own :  — 
And  spring's  sweet  power  in  vain  unfold 
In  rosy  charms  —  when  I  am  old. 

When  I  am  old  —  I  shall  not  care 
To  deck  with  flowers  my  faded  hair; 


UTTERANCE. 

'Twill  be  no  vain  desire  of  mine, 
In  rich  and  costly  dress  to  shine  : — 
Bright  jewels  and  the  brightest  gold 
Will  charm  me  naught  —  when  I  am  old. 

When  I  am  old  —  my  friends  will  be 
Old  and  infirm  and  bowed  —  like  me. 
Or  else,  —  their  bodies  'neath  the  sod, 
Their  spirits  dwelling  safe  with  God, — 
The  old  church  bell  will  long  have  tolled 
Above  their  rest — when  I  am  old. 

When  I  am  old  —  I'd  rather  bend 
Thus  sadly  o'er  each  buried  friend, 
Than  see  them  lose  the  earnest  truth 
That  marks  the  friendship  of  our  youth ;  - 
'Twill  be  so  sad  to  have  them  cold 
Or  strange  to  me  —  when  I  am  old ! 

When  I  am  old !  —  oh,  how  it  seems 
Like  the  wild  lunacy  of  dreams, 


VOICES     BY     THE     WAY.  229 

To  picture  in  prophetic  rhyme, 
That  dim,  far-distant,  shadowy  time  ;  — 
So  distant  that  it  seems  o'er-bold 
Even  to  say  —  "  When  I  am  old  !  " 

When  I  am  old?  —  perhaps  ere  then, 
I  shall  he  missed  from  haunts  of  men ;  — 
Perhaps  my  dwelling  will  he  found 
Beneath  the  green  and  quiet  mound ;  — 
My  name  by  stranger  hands  enrolled 
Among  the  dead  —  ere  I  am  old  ! 

Ere  I  am  old  ?  —  that  time  is  now, 
For  youth  sits  lightly  on  my  brow; 
My  limbs  are  firm,  and  strong,  and  free, 
Life  has  a  thousand  charms  for  me ;  — 
Charms  that  will  long  their  influence  hold 
Within  my  heart  —  ere  I  am  old. 

Ere  I  am  old  —  oh,  let  me  give 
My  life  to  learning  how  to  live  ! 


230  UTTERANCE. 


Then  shall  I  meet  with  willing  heart 
An  early  summons  to  depart, 
Or  find  my  lengthened  days  consoled 
By  God's  sweet  peace  —  when  I  am  old, 


VOICES     BY     THE     WAY.  231 


AUBURN    DALE. 


WITHIN  thy  shades,  sweet  Auburn  Dale, 
My  feet  have  wandered  not  in  vain; 

Each  breezy  glade  and  leafy  vale 
Recalls  my  spirit's  youth  again. 

Oh,  wondrous  spell,  that  charms  me  back 
To  the  dear  dreams  my  childhood  knew, 

When  all  along  Life's  sunny  track 

Sweet  hopes  like  trembling  blossoms  grew ! 

I  stand  within  these  leafy  dells, 

Once  more  a  happy,  dreaming  child, 

Encircled  by  delicious  spells 

And  by  a  nameless  thrall  beguiled. 

Strange  that  these  human  hearts  of  ours 
Can  travel  back  thro'  toil  and  tears, 


232  UTTERANCE. 

And  live  once  more  the  golden  hours 
That  blest  those  earlier,  happier  years  ! 

Strange  that  the  fresh,  glad,  joyous  earth, 
With  its  warm,  spells  of  light  and  bloom, 

Can  make  the  soul  forget  its  dearth, 
Its  desolate  weariness  and  gloom ! 

Thanks,  oh  our  God  —  for  Thine  own  care 
Planned  all  this  loveliness  we  see, 

That  every  sight,  sublime  or  fair, 

Might  win  us  back  to  Youth  and  Thee ! 

Thanks  for  this  hour  of  sweet  reprieve 
From  the  dull  chains  of  worldly  strife  ; 

One  hour  like  this  has  power  to  breathe 
New  gladness  thro'  the  darkest  life. 


VOICES     BY     THE     WAY.  233 


THE    RAIN. 

HEIGH-HO  !    the  rain, 
The  wild,  impetuous  rain  !  — 
Hear  how  it  raves  at  my  window-pane  ! 
Hurrying  down  with  a  mad  commotion, 
Mad  as  the  din  of  a  storm-lashed  ocean, — 
Sweeping  the  mountain,  pelting  the  plain  — 
Heigh-ho  !   the  wild,  impetuous  rain ! 

Heigh-ho!    the  rain, 
The  chiding,  querulous  rain  !  — 
Hear  how  it  scolds  at  my  window-pane  ! 
See  on  the  boughs  that  are  well-nigh  breaking, 
Hundreds  of  leaves  in  their  terror  shaking; 
Seeming  to  murmur  this  sad  refrain, 
"  Heigh-ho  !    the  chiding,  querulous  rain  !  " 


234  UTTERANCE. 

Heigh-ho  !   the  rain, 
The  restless,  tremulous  rain ! 
Hear  how  it  beats  at  my  window-pane  ! 
Beats  like  a  heart  with  fear  affrighted, 
Beats  like  a  heart  with  love  delighted ;  — 
Half  in  gladness  and  half  in  pain  — 
Heigh-ho  !   the  restless,  tremulous  rain ! 

Heigh-ho  !    the  rain, 
The  pleading,  pitiful  rain! 
Hear  how  it  sighs  at  my  window-pane  ! 
Type  of  a  breast  that  is  full  of  sorrow, 
Sighing  for  peace  and  a  brighter  morrow; 
Sighs  that  are  uttered  too  oft  in  vain  — 
Heigh-ho  !    the  pleading,  pitiful  rain  ! 

Heigh-ho  !    the  rain, 
The  weary,  desolate  rain ! 
Hear  how  it  sobs  at  my  window-pane! 
Sobs  like  a  child  that  has  lost  its  mother, 
And  never,  never  can  find  another 


VOICES      BY     THE     WAY.  235 

To  love  and  cherish  like  her  again !  — 
Heigh-ho  !   the  weary,  desolate  rain ! 

Heigh-ho !    the  rain, 
The  dainty,  delicate  rain ! 
Hear  how  it  taps  at  my  window-pane  ! 
Gratefully  sweet,  like  Love's  moist  fingers 
Laid  on  a  brow  where  fever  lingers, 
Drip  the  cool  sounds  on  my  heated  brain  — 
Heigh-ho  !    the  dainty,  delicate  rain ! 

Heigh-ho  !    the  rain, 
The  lovely,  musical  rain ! 
Hear  how  it  chants  at  my  window-pane  ! 
Hushed  is  the  tempest's  petulant  chiding, 
Gently  and  gracefully  now  'tis  gliding 
Into  a  calm  and  beautiful  strain, — 
Heigh-ho  !    the  lovely,  musical  rain  ! 

Heigh-ho  !    the  rain, 
The  fitful,  vanishing  rain ! 


236  UTTERANCE. 

Now  it  has  ceased  at  my  window-pane, 
Through  the  torn  edge  of  a  cloud  just  parted. 
See  !    one  tremulous  star  has  started ; 
Putting  to  silence  my  dull  refrain, — 
"  Heigh-ho  !   the  fitful,  vanishing  rain  !  " 


YOICES     BY     THE     WAY.  237 


EVENING. 

COME,  dear  one,  for  the  evening  hour  is  stealing 
Slowly  and  quietly  the  earth  upon ; 
Come,  for  the  season  of  each  pure  revealing, 
With  the  soft  night-dew  comes  half  sadly  on. 
Nature  is  quiet  and  the  heart  at  rest 
In  this  sweet  twilight  hour,  the  holiest  and  the  best. 

Come,  for  the  light  winds  with  their  fairy  fingers, 
Play  their  soft  descants  in  each  bush  and  tree. 
And  in  the  brake  the  starry  fire-fly  lingers, 
Lighting  the  fairies  to  their  nightly  glee ; 
And  the  faint  stars  begin  to  stud  the  sea 
Of  boundless  blue  above,  with  their  soft  brilliancy. 

See  in  the  west  the  rosy  clouds  are  meeting, 
Laying  their  glowing  cheeks  against  the  sky; 


23'8  UTTERANCE. 

Nestling  all  fondly,  where  with  kindly  greeting, 
The  sun  to  earth  has  kissed  his  last  good-bye  ; 
How  lovingly  they  cluster  in  the  west, 
Like  tired  children,  laid  in  the  same  couch  to  rest. 

From  the  moist  earth,  where  the  clear  dew  lies  weeping, 
Comes  the  sweet  incense  of  the  closing  flower; 
Most  meet  it  is  that  dew-drops  should  be  keeping 
Their  tearful  vigils  at  this  dreamy  hour ; 
Ay,  meet  it  is  that  earth  itself  should  weep, 
When  its  supremest  joy  —  the  flowers — are  all  asleep. 

God  hath  made  evening  beautiful ;  —  the  flowers, 
The  light  winds  and  the  rosy  clouds  and  dew, 
Lend  each  their  glory  to  these  sunset  hours, 
And  gild  them  with  a  radiance  ever  new; 
But  THEY  can  never  image  half  His  worth, 
Who  spake  them  all  from    nought,  in   their   glad-hour 
of  birth. 

The  stars  are  glorious,  but  He  is  glory, 
The  flowers  are  lovely,  but  perfection  He  ; 


VOICES      BY      THE     WAY.  239 

The  clouds  are  beautiful,  but  He  is  beauty, 
The  matchless  God  !    the  spotless  Deity ! 
Oh,  let  us  bow  and  worship  and  adore 
The  Infinite !    the  Good  !     Angels  could  do  no  more  ! 


240  TTTTEBANCE. 


AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

AY,  they  are  dying  !     See  them  one  by  one 

Fall  with  a  noiseless  footstep  to  the  earth, 

From  the  kind  arms  that  since  their  infancy 

Have  cherished  them  so  fondly.     Not  a  sigh 

Charges  the  air  with  sorrow  as  they  pass 

From  the  old  homestead  where  their  youth  was  spent, 

And  their  maturer  age ;    but,  from  above, 

Among  the  stricken  boughs,  the  sobbing  winds 

Chant  fitfully  and  low  their  solemn  hymns 

And  dirge-like  melodies,  —  meet  requiem 

O'er  the  departure  of  those  falling  leaves. 

Those  falling  leaves  !  —  but  a  brief  space  ago, 

And  they  were  fresh  with  being.     Spring's  sweet  breath 

Stole  like  a  charmer  o'er  them,  and  awoke 

Each  leaf-bud  from  its  trance,  and  hour  by  hour 

They  silently  unfolded  to  the  light, 

Until  each  tree-top  seemed  a  sparkling  mine 


VOICES      BY     THE      WAY.  241 

Of  living  emeralds  gloriously  bright. 

And  then  came  blossoms,  and  rare  sport  had  they, 
Those  dancing  leaves,  with  the  fair  visiters, 
The  sweet  new  comers,  with  their  rosy  cheeks, 
And  dewy  lips,  and  soft  delicious  breath  ! 
How  they  would  toy  with  them  the  livelong  day, 
And  kiss  their  glowing  cheeks,  and  lay  their  hands 
Caressingly  upon  their  velvet  brows, 
And  play  sweet  songs  to  them  upon  the  strings 
Of  their  invisible  harps  —  the  tuneful  winds ! 
And  then  they'd  dance  to  the  soft,  witching  strains, 
Making  the  green  old  earth  like  some  bright  haunt 
Of  fairy  revelry. 

Then  Summer  came ; 

The  glowing  blossoms  changed  to  glowing  fruit, 
Yet  still  as  tirelessly  the  leaves  danced  on, 
But  with  maturer  grace,  for  time  had  lent 
A  softened  influence  to  their  sportive  glee ; 
And  shelteringly  they  threw  their  broad,  green  arms 
Over  the  ripening  fruit,  as  if  to  shield 
The  precious  treasure  from  the  covetous  grasp 
Of  man's  rude  hand.     But  the  sweet  care  was  vain, 
16 


242  UTTERANCE. 

• 

For  Autumn's  mellow  months  drew  on  apace, 
And  with  them  came  the  reaper,  and  the  houghs 
Shook  'neath  his  hand  like  aspens,  till  the  red 
And  golden  harvest  strewed  the  hardened  ground, 
Snatched  from  their  cradled  home  where  they  had  dwelt 
In  their  bright  beauty  ! 

So  the  leaves  began 
To  droop  for  sorrow,  and  to  lay  aside 
Their  fresh  green  garbs  for  robes  of  darker  hue ; 
And  strangely  melancholy  grew  the  tones 
Of  their  sweet  harps,  until  the  love  of  life 
Grew  cold  within  their  bosoms ;  —  blossoms,  fruits, 
And  summer  days  had  gone,  and  what  had  they 
Longer  to  do  with  life  ?  —  so,  one  by  one, 
They  gathered  up  their  dark  and  rustling  robes, 
Glad  that  the  toil  of  life  was  done,  —  and  died ! 


VOICES     BY     THE     WAY.  243 


THE    CHILD'S    LAST    WISH. 

"  MOTHER,  dear  Mother,  the  day  is  done ; 
Rapidly  sinketh  the  setting  sun,  — 
While  on  the  wings  of  the  passing  hours, 
Lingers  the  breath  of  the  shutting  flowers. 
Mother,  dear  Mother,  before  I  die, 
Throw  up  the  sash  to  the  clear  night-sky ; 
Fain  would  I  whisper  a  last  farewell 

To  the  gentle  flowers  that  I  loved  so  well."" 

.-,„ 

The  Mother  rose  with  a  tearful  eye, 

And  threw  up  the  sash  to  the  evening  sky. 

"  Mother,  dear  Mother,  they  all  are  there 
With  their  gentle  eyes  and  their  foreheads  fair ; 
Lily  and  Violet,  Myrtle  and  Rose, 
Laying  them  down  to  their  night's  repose. 


244  UTTERANCE. 

Mother,  I  wish  I  could  pass  away 

From  this  lovely  earth  with  the  dying  day ! 

How  sweet  to  be  borne  to  celestial  bowers 

On  the  pleasant  breath  of  the  fainting  flowers ! " 

The  Mother  turned  with  an  anxious  eye, 
And  gazed  on  her  darling  tearfully. 

44  Mother,  dear  Mother,  I  fain  would  rest, 

Pillowed  once  more  on  your  loving  breast. 

Dark  to  my  vision  is  twilight  now, 

Cold  are  the  shadows  that  press  my  brow. 

Mother,  dear  Mother,  your  gentle  face 

Mid  the  thick  darkness  no  more  I  trace  ; 

Death  is  around  me  —  farewell  —  I  roam 

On  the  breath  of  flowers  to  my  heavenly  home."' 

The  Mother  gazed  —  but  her  tears  were  dried  ; 
Her  child  —  with  the  fainting  blossoms  —  died  ! 


TOICES     BY     THE      WAY.  245 


HESPERUS. 

DAYLIGHT  lay  dying;  —  down  the  sloping  sky 

Swept  the  rich  crimson  of  her  gorgeous  shroud  — 
(Strange  pageantry  of  Death!)  —  when  suddenly, 

From  the  rent  bosom  of  a  rosy  cloud, 
Sprang  the  sweet  star  of  evening  —  for  a  while 

Heaven's  only  habitant  —  but  soon  the  blue 
Grew  dimpled  o'er  with  one  continuous  smile 

From  stars  that  every  moment  trembled  through ; 
Until  it  seemed  —  so  merry  waxed  the  crowd  — 
The  very  skies  must  lift  their  voice  and  laugh  aloud  ! 

Yet,  from  the  glittering  multitude,  my  eye, 

Half  wearied,  wandered  to  that  one  bright  ray, 

That  first  lone  star  which  lit  so  lovingly 
Its  funeral  torch  above  the  dying  day. — 

Queen  of  the  Eve  !  —  the  fairest  and  the  first ! 
Gem  of  the  night,  tho'  thousands  shine  afar! 


246  UTTERANCE. 

—  And  still,  with  love  that  many  years  have  nursed, 

Still  is  it  to  my  gaze  the  one  bright  star  ! 
My  childhood's  darling  and  my  girlhood's  pride  — 
Loved  with  a  simple  faith  that  never  once  has  died! 


VOICES      BY      THE      WAY.  247 


THE    ORIGIN    OF    DIMPLES. 


ONE  morning  in  the  blossoming  May 

A  child  was  sporting  'mongst  the  flowers, 
Till,  wearied  out  with  his  restless  play, 
He  laid  him  down  to  dream  away 

The  long  and  scorching  noon-tide  hours. 

At  length  an  Angel's  unseen  form 

Parted  the  air  with  a  conscious  thrill, 
And  poised  itself  like  a  presence  warm 

Above  the  boy,  who  was  slumbering  still. 
Never  before  had  so  fair  a  thing 
Stayed  the  swift  speed  of  his  shining  wing ; 
And  gazing  down  with  a  wonder  rare 
On  the  beautiful  face  of  the  dreamer  there, 
The  Angel  stooped  to  kiss  the  child, 
When  lo  !    at  the  touch  the  baby  smiled  — 


248  17  ITERANCE. 


And  just  where  the  unseen  lips  had  prest, 

A  dimple  lay  in  its  sweet  unrest, — 

Sporting  upon  his  cheek  of  rose 

Like  a  ripple  waked  from  its  light  repose 

On  a  streamlet's  breast  when  the  soft  wind  blows. 

—  And  the  Angel  passed  from  the  sleeping  one, 

For  his  mission  to  earth  that  day  was  done. 

A  fair  face  bent  above  the  boy  ; 

It  must  have  been  the  boy's  own  mother,  — 
For  never  would  such  pride  and  joy 

Have  lit  the  face  of  any  other. 

• 

And  while  she  gazed,  the  quiet  air 
Grew  tremulous  with  a  whispered  prayer. 
Anon  it  ceased,  and  the  boy  awoke, 
And  a  smile  of  love  o'er  his  features  broke. 
The  mother  marked  with  a  holy  joy 
The  dimpling  cheek  of  her  darling  boy, 
And  caught  him  up,  while  a  warm  surprise 
Stole  like  a  star  to  her  midnight  eyes  !  — 
And  she  whispered  low,  as  she  gently  smiled, 
"  I  know  an  angel  has  kissed  my  child  !  " 


VOICES      BY      THE     WAY.  249 


SADNESS. 

WHEKEFORE  comes  this  misty  feeling 

Ever  in  my  lonely  hours, 
O'er  my  heart  in  tear-drops  stealing, 

Like  sad  night-dews  over  flowers  ? 

'Tis  not  pain,  —  it  is  not  sorrow, — 
Something  holier  than  they  ;  — 

Thoughts,  that,  like  the  twilight,  borrow 
Beauty  from  the  dying  day. 

Daylight  in  my  heart  is  dying, 
Yet  the  dark  night  is  not  there, 

Only  twilight,  still  and  pulseless 
As  the  hush  that  follows  prayer. 

Call  ye  not  my  sadness  sorrow  ;  — 
Give  it  not  so  dark  a  name 


250  UTTERANCE. 

While  my  soul  it  lit  with,  memory's 
Sad,  yet  sweetly  shining  flame. 

Sorrow  is  the  soul's  dark  night-time, 
Without  light  of  stars  or  moon ; 

Fears,  like  winds,  forever  playing 
On  the  heart  a  dirge-like  tune. 

Sadness  is  the  spirit's  twilight, 
Beautiful  with  day's  last  gleam, 

While,  from  far,  Hope's  star  is  rising 
With  its  calm  and  holy  beam. 

Twilight  round  my  heart  is  gath'ring, 
But  the  bright  Sun  of  the  Past 

Gilds  with  Heaven's  own  light  the  shadows 
That  wrould  else  come  crowding  fast. 

Though  the  day's  fierce  light  has  faded, 

Yet  its  influence  lingers  on ; 
It  has  faded  but  to  show  me 

Lights  that  erst  I  knew  not  shone ;  — 


VOICES      BY      THE     WAT.  251 

Stars  of  hope  that  gild  the  future, 
Lesser  than  the  great  bright  sun ;  — 

But  if  lesser,  far  more  num'rous,  — 
They  are  many,  —  it  but  one. 

Welcome  then  this  quiet  sadness, 
This  sweet  twilight  of  the  heart ! 

So  that  this  but  gild  my  spirit, 
Gladly  with  the  day  I'll  part.- 


252  UTTERANCE. 


TRUTH  vs.  CUSTOM. 

"  That  monster,  Custom !  " 

SHAKSPEARE. 
"  The  Truth  shall  make  you  free." 

GOSPELS. 

As  the  wave  that  driven  landward,  rushes  back  upon 
the  main, 

Only  to  be  sent  to  grapple  with  the  pebbly  shore 
again, 

So  the  pulse-tides  of  my  spirit,  reaching  out  to  Truth 
alone, 

On  the  cold,  bleak  shores  of  Custom  are  for  ever  back 
ward  thrown, 

Where  the  monster,  iron-featured,  sways  the  race  from 
zone  to  zone. 

Whence  this  rigid,  cold  compulsion  —  this  slow  tyranny 
of  fate?  — 


VOICES      BY      THE     WAY.  253 

Must  I  learn  from  lips  of  others  what  to  love  and 
what  to  hate  ? 

Are  there  in  my  own  true  spirit  no  great  voices  I  may 
trust,  — 

No  dear  thoughts,  my  own  by  birth-right,  rising  from 
its  wrecks  and  dust, 

That  my  will  must  bow  for  ever  to  the  World's  im 
perious  "  Must  ?  " 

Can  the  free  soul  brook  dictation?  Wings  it  hath  to 
soar  away 

From  these  flesh  and  blood  enthrallments,  these  world- 
manacles  of  clay  ! 

So  the  lightning,  chained  and  tutored  to  perform  man's 
lightest  will, 

Yet  retains  within  its  nature  all  its  power  of  good  or 
ill,— 

Seemingly  subdued,  obedient  —  but,  for  all  that,  light 
ning  still ! 


Thus   among  my  kind  I  wander,  outwardly  content  to 
wear 


254  .      UTTERANCE. 

Shackles  custom-forged  and    fashioned  with    most   nice 

and  rigorous  care ; 
But  I  feel    a    spirit   in    me  more    majestic    than   them 

all, 
Rising  in  its  calm  indifference  —  ahle  to  withstand  the 

thrall  — 
Strong  to  make  its  own    enactments    'gainst  a  world's 

opposing  call ! 

Truth  and  Duty  are  the  masters  that  should  sway  the 

world  alone, 
Holding  each  the  same    good    sceptre  —  sitting  on  the 

same  great  throne. 
Blind    Oppression,    narrow    Faction,    and     the    whole 

opposing  herd 
Holding  Mind  in  tangled  meshes,  prisoned  like  a  pining 

bird,  — 
God  at  length    shall    sweep    them    headlong    with    the 

besom  of  a  world. 

God  —  who    called    the    Light   from    Darkness    with    a 
simple  "  Let  there  be," 


V  0  I  C  E  S      BY      THE      WAY.  255 

He  has  power  to  break  the  bondage,  bidding  all  who 
grope  go  free. 

* 

Not    for   ever   shall   the   spirit,   struggling   for   diviner 

birth, 
Feel    the    strong,    cold    coils  of  Custom  crushing  it  so 

close  to  earth, 
Pressing    out    its    very  life-blood,  like  a  vintage    little 

worth  ! 

Not  for  ever  —  for  already,  —  crimsoning  the  distant 
years 

With  the  glory  of  its  zenith,  —  that  prophetic  dawn 
appears, 

When  the  free  soul,  no  more  crouching,  hound-like, 
to  another's  nod, 

Throwing  off  each  burning  shackle,  yields  it  to  the 
eternal  sod, 

Till  the  whole  earth  stands  unfettered  'neath  the  per 
fect  reign  of  God ! 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


RECEIVED 

RFC  9    '67  *M)  A 

M 

trtrt*      r         v*  • 

t^AW   OEPT 

wr^i*  * 
^f-rx  1   7  197R    ! 

J3 

'SEP  *  '  13fD 

KEC.CIR.     APR     176 

Du  v  ;•:  - 

-»       imo  7  ^  78 

1  VM«    tT'H1           '    -                  ' 

.   . 

NQV  2     1997 

I^IVJ  ¥     W           Ivv/f 

\\72\rt 

LD  2lA-60)«-2,'67 
(H241slO)476B 


General  Library 

University  of  California 

Berkeley 


939870 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


